Fatherhood
by ImaginedElegance
Summary: A series of one-shots about the gang becoming dads and having to deal with their kids.
1. Chapter 1

**AN - alright, story number three! I'm super excited to have you guys read this and I hope you'll love it. as always, please follow/review/favorite. Enjoy!**

Chapter 1: Two-Bit

I guess I wasn't really cut out for being a dad, you know? Never really had one myself. Just Mr. Curtis and, yeah, he was fatherly, but it wasn't the same as having my own. I learned to be a good kid from him, at least. He didn't have the time to teach me to be a good dad, though. Not like I was all that great at school anyway... Kinda sucks, but it's true.

When I finally made it out of high school, I didn't bother with college. I was too stupid for that. Couldn't even graduate from 12th grade on my first try. A guy like me belonged in a dead-end job, not a university. So I began my luxurious career as a truck driver.

And, looking back on it, I'm pretty glad I started cause that's how I met my girl. Savannah. She was as beautiful as they come, her hair all long and flowing and, most importantly, golden blonde. First saw her down in Santa-fe on one of my 'business trips'. I'd been driving ten hours and damn was I tired! But when I noticed her watching me from the other side of the parking lot, I felt fully awake.

I went over and chatted her up and, next thing I know, we're spending the night in some cheap motel room. After that, I was in love. I know it was stupid and crazy, but who was surprised? Stupid and crazy men did stupid and crazy things. Guaranteed fact of life. 100% true.

Well, we stayed in contact for a few years by just talking on the phone or writing letters (cause sometimes I couldn't pay the bills and they shut off my electricity). Then, another assignment sent me back to Santa-fe and we got to see each other again. We spent that night together as sweethearts should - a quiet dinner and gentle loving in the bedroom afterwards.

In the morning, I whisked her off to Vegas. We were married almost immediately. But I couldn't afford to stay more than a couple hours, so I brought her home to her parents then returned to my boss in Tulsa.

Sure, he was pissed cause I was supposed to be back days ago. His anger didn't last too long, though. He just took a little money out of my paycheck and we never spoke about why I'd been late. No reason to tell him that I'd left a Mrs. Savannah Mathews back in Santa-fe. I doubted that he cared, anyway.

But I guess he suspected something. I was never sent to Santa-fe again. For a while, I tried to sneak away to see her and I could never manage it. She hated that more than anything. I didn't get the chance to ask why cause she stopped answering my calls and letters. Didn't make any sense... She'd never been mad at me before. She'd said she understood how hard it was gonna be - being a trucker's wife, I mean.

I never spoke to her again.

After another four years, I finally found out why she'd needed me with her.

It was a cool morning in late April and I was already on my way out the door when the phone started ringing. Swearing a little, I went back inside to answer.

"Hello?" I asked, probably coming off as real impatient. Of course, I was cause I knew I'd be late for work if I didn't get going soon.

"Mr. Keith Mathews, this is Alice Johnson from the Santa-fe police department," the voice replied. "I'm calling to inform you that your wife was killed in a car accident three days ago."

My throat went dry and I felt my heart drop into the pit of my stomach. I swallowed hard. "What happened?"

"She was walking down a sidewalk when a truck veered off the road and hit her. She...died on impact." The woman almost sounded guilty.

There were tears in my eyes, but I just let them fall. Nobody to judge me here. Only empty walls and the echoing news that the love of my life was dead. "Thanks for letting me know."

Silence on the the officer's end. Regret on mine.

"Yes, well..." the woman said, coughing awkwardly. "A social worker will be around tomorrow at about 6pm to drop off your daughter. You must be wanting to see her again."

"Yes, I..." I trailed off, realizing what she had said only after she hung up.

A daughter. I had a daughter. And Savannah never told me. Was that what had been bothering her then? Had she wanted me to live with her because she'd been pregnant? It must've been the reason she got so mad at me. She should've said so. I always wanted to have a happy family of my own cause I was sick of being on the outside and looking in at the happiness my friends had found.

The delivery I made that day was a short one - only a couple hours. I returned the truck to its usual place then marched into my boss's office. Quit my job that evening, went home to search the papers for another. Now that I had a kid, I needed something closer to Tulsa. I was gonna be there for her even if I didn't know what a good dad did.

She arrived that Monday at about 6:27pm. The social worker didn't have much to say - just a curt, "Mr. Mathews." - then he jumped back in his car and left.

"Hey, kiddo," I said, gently guiding the little girl into my house. "What's your name?"

"Amelia..." she mumbled.

She kept her eyes down. I knew they were tearing up cause she felt like she was being punished for no reason. Poor girl just wanted to go home, be with her mom. But she couldn't. Maybe she didn't understand yet...

I showed her around the place, trying to joke about how messy it was. She didn't laugh. Not even once. She only looked up when I showed her the kitchen.

"Are you hungry?" I asked.

"No..."

Sometimes she looked like Savannah, with the same blue eyes and blonde hair. But most of the time, she just looked like a stranger. I was already having doubts and I hadn't even known her for an hour. But I couldn't give up. We were still getting used to each other. It would take time.

I wished we had met under better conditions. Maybe we'd be joking around together or watching Mickey Mouse. And she'd be calling me "Daddy" while Savannah giggled from the kitchen. Then my wife would come out with plates of chocolate cake and we'd sing Happy Birthday just for the fun of it then eat the best tasting cake in the world.

What had I done wrong? Why didn't I deserve to actually live that scene?

But I had to stay positive. For Amelia. She was the most important person in my life right now and I needed to be the best I could be.

I left her in the bedroom (my old one that I was giving up for her) cause I knew she didn't want to talk. Things would get better soon, though. I was sure of that. She didn't love me yet, but I was determined to win her over. I was determined to make her smile again, to teach her to be the same lovable joker that I had been before I'd had to grow up.

As long as I was here, she would never have to worry about growing up too fast. Maybe I was gonna be a better dad than I thought...

 **AN - hope you enjoyed chapter 1! I would love it if you guys had any suggestions for some of the next one-shots, as well. also, should I include the two one-shot ideas that I have for Johnny and Dally? it would be like a "if they had lived" kind of thing, I guess. do you think that'd be a good idea?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Reviews:**

 **Sammy - Thank you so much for reviewing last chapter! I really liked your suggestion so it'll be included in Dally's chapter. For now, I hope you enjoy Johnny's chapter and I'll try to write Dally's as soon as I can. :)**

Chapter 2: Johnny

Honestly, I didn't think it could happen. I've been stuck in a wheelchair since I was sixteen and just about anyone you asked would tell you that guys who were paralyzed couldn't have kids. No one thought it was possible. I remember being real disappointed cause I'd wanted a chance. A chance to be a better dad than the one I got.

I met Wendy right in the middle of my senior year. She'd moved to Tulsa from Clarksville after her dad got transferred on business. We became friends pretty quickly even though I was just some disabled greaser and she was clearly better off than me. I mean, she's got a family who loves her and a good amount of money, too. But she still had to work. And I think that's what I really liked about her: she wasn't a soc or a greaser. She was just a normal girl.

We started going out close to the end of that year - early May, I think. I got to know her parents and they kinda ended up becoming my family, too. It was just after graduation when I became a permanent resident of her house. Well, it was nothing official. I just stopped going back to my place. I don't think my parents even noticed.

The kindness of her parents got me a college degree. I put in as much money as I could, but it still wasn't enough. Despite my protests, they covered the rest. And just like that, I was attending the University of Tulsa with Wendy.

Graduation was looming pretty close by the time I finally got up the courage to ask her dad for another loan. He asked me why I needed it and I looked down at the floor, feeling my cheeks turn red. I told him I wanted to propose to his daughter. To my surprise, he was more than willing to help out.

That same year - just two months after becoming a college graduate - I metaphorically got down on one knee. She said yes.

We got married five years later. I'd found an office job that paid fairly well and we moved out of her parents' house. She found work as a veterinarian. For the first time in my life, I wasn't struggling to make ends meet. Our careers kept us really busy so we never got to talk about having kids. Just as well we avoided it. There wouldn't have been any good news for us...

"Maybe we could adopt instead," Wendy suggested when the topic finally came up.

"Maybe..." I didn't like the idea.

So we kept trying to have our own. Wendy even got us help from all sorts of doctors. They gave me medicine, they gave her pills. But she just wasn't getting pregnant.

I gave up.

I still remember the day we found out. Wendy'd been telling me for weeks that she was concerned because her period was really late. I didn't bother hoping. It was much more likely that there was something wrong with her. So I took her to the hospital to get her checked out. The nurse came back in pretty quickly and she looked at us like we were the dumbest people she'd ever seen.

"There's nothing wrong with you, Mrs. Cade," she said with an annoyed sigh. "You're just pregnant."

And then Wendy started crying. She hugged me as tightly as she could. Through her tears, I heard her whispering, "We did it. Johnny, we did it."

Over the next nine months, I watched with reverent fascination as her stomach got bigger, rounder. I kept thinking it wasn't possible. How could a cripple be this lucky? Each morning, I felt acute fear, realizing that maybe I'd been dreaming the whole time. But then I'd see Wendy and her amazingly, wonderfully swollen belly and I could relax again.

Sometimes, I tried to call the number Dally had given me before he'd left. I just wanted him to know that I was gonna be a dad, too. Don't know how excited he'd have been cause, at the time, I knew he was already a father of three. I didn't get to find out, though. No one ever answered the phone... I left a couple messages. Then I gave up and stopped calling.

Wendy went into labor on January 20th and gave birth the next afternoon. I held her hand through the entire ordeal. Glad to do it, too, except for the fact that she almost broke my fingers. Anyway, before supper-time we were the proud parents of Oliver Cade.

We took him home after a couple days, showed him his room.

Seven years later and I still can't believe he's actually mine. Of course, I would never doubt Wendy's loyalty. Ollie looks just like me, anyway. Dark hair and eyes, tanned skin. He gets his personality from his mom, though. He's so outgoing, it makes me nervous. I worry that he'll get himself hurt.

It's a warm Sunday afternoon when it happens. I'm home from work, preparing to go back early tomorrow morning. Ollie runs up to me - all smiles, as usual.

"Daddy, let's go on an adventure!" he says.

"Sure thing, Ollie," I reply. "Where are we going?"

He tells me it's a secret then runs off at full speed. I have no choice but to follow him. We sprint through the trees behind our house, heading toward the creek. Well, I guess I'm not really running... But in my defense, I _am_ in a wheelchair.

Inevitably, he gets far ahead of me and I lose sight of him. To make matters worse, a branch gets stuck in my wheels. I stop to fix it, bending over the side of the chair. It's only when I sit up that I realize I can't hear him anymore.

"Ollie?" I call.

Nothing.

"Oliver!" I try again and again, pushing the wheels of my chair with renewed urgency. "Oliver Henry Cade, if you don't stop fooling around this instant, you're grounded!"

Still nothing.

I roll along the bank of the creek and it seems like an eternity before I find him. When I see him, I'm angry at first. I'd told him a million times not to go in the water. Then I notice he's not moving. I see blood on the rocks, quickly washed away by the current. My heart's racing. I push over to him, scoop his little body out of the water. There's a wicked gash across his forehead, still seeping blood.

His breathing is shallow, but he's alive. Thank God, he's alive! I wheel us back to the house, adrenaline pumping through my body.

Wendy's waiting for us on the back porch. A look of panic crosses her face, but before I can say anything, she turns and bolts inside. I get Ollie into the house, wrap a towel around his head. By the time I'm done, Wendy's hanging up the phone.

"A-ambulance will be here soon," she says, moving to stand beside me. She runs her fingers through our little boy's hair. "What happened?"

"I think he slipped... Down by the creek..." That's all I can think to say.

The ambulance pulls up a half hour later and they take our only child away. We drive to the hospital behind them.

We sit in the waiting room for what feels like hours. Nobody's telling us anything so we can only assume it's real bad. They must be losing him. That's all I'm thinking right now. He's gone. Our miracle is gone. I can't help but wonder if this is why people get bitter: cause they get hurt real bad. Part of me wishes I had listened to Dally all those years ago. I wish I could be tough like him.

Finally, a nurse finds us. She smiles at me then my wife, though she still looks a little nervous. "We stitched Oliver up - good as new," she says. "He didn't lose as much blood as we thought so he didn't need any special treatment."

"That's good to hear," I reply, squeezing Wendy's hand reassuringly. "Thank you so much."

"Of course," she says, smile broadening. "The doctor's given him permission to be discharged, by the way. I'll bring you to him so you can get ready to go. Oh, and when you get home, give him juice and something to eat, okay? It'll help his body replenish the blood it lost."

Wendy nods rapidly. "Y-yes, I'll do just that."

We collect a rather sleepy-looking Oliver from the ER and begin the drive back home. It's still light outside so I assume we were only in the hospital for two hours. When we get home, I scoop up my son and place him on my lap. Wendy rushes ahead of us to get the juice and start making dinner.

"You scared us a lot, Ollie," I say, voice gentle.

"I'm sorry, Daddy..." he mumbles. I can hardly hear him cause his face is buried in my chest. He repeats his apology, slightly louder but still muffled. "I just wanted to play..."

I hug him tightly and kiss his forehead. "I know, buddy. I know. I'm glad you're okay. Now let's get you inside. The doctor says you gotta eat if you want to feel healthy again."

Once Ollie is situated with his apple juice and crackers, I walk over to the telephone. Wendy gives me a curious glance as I pass, but I ignore her. I start dialing, hold the phone up to my ear. It's ringing. Then I nearly jump out of my skin cause there's finally a voice, greeting me as cheerfully as I'd ever imagined.

"What the hell do ya want?"

 **AN - I don't usually write in present tense so please tell me what you thought. Also review, favorite, and follow if you have the time. I really appreciate it! :D**


	3. Chapter 3

**Reviews:**

 **Sammy - I'm really glad you liked it! And I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much as the last one :)**

 **Fiction by Jen - Yeah, sorry about that. I got inspired by the song White Trash Beautiful and I just couldn't help myself. I'm not promising anything, but I might go back and write more once I make it through the rest of the gang. If you have any suggestions I'd love to hear them :) Anyway, thank you so much for reviewing, it really made my day!**

Chapter 3: Dally

Bars weren't really my thing. Never had been, actually. I'd only downed a couple beers, but I was already itching to get out of there cause it was so damn loud and my head felt like it was gonna burst. Figured I'd stay, though. No use in coming out here if I didn't drink enough to forget.

Didn't exactly know what I was trying to leave behind me. I just knew I couldn't go home until the memory was completely erased from my mind. Whatever it was. The beers kept on coming, anyway. So I drank them.

Johnny always said I was too impulsive - not sure what that means, but he didn't look too happy saying it. He tried to explain. Said I just did as I pleased and never thought about the cost of my actions. I guess he'd been right cause the thought of paying for the beer hadn't bothered me yet. Didn't know how much it'd be. My math weren't all that good, specially not when I was drunk.

My eyes were going blurry, the whole room spinning, by the time I got cut off. Could've gone for a couple more and I told the bartender that. He scoffed then said, "Go home, kid." And that pissed me off real bad cause nobody told Dallas Winston what to do. I stood up, knocking over the bar stool as I tried to balance on shaking legs.

"Fuck off, man," I slurred. "I told ya I ain't done yet." I stretched over the bar, reaching for a bottle of whiskey on the shelf behind the scowling guy. He slapped my hand away so I hauled back and decked him. Right in the nose. God, I laughed so hard, it hurt.

Or maybe the pain was just from the bartender's fist in my gut. Some blurry men grabbed my arms, dragging me out of the place. I leaned my head back and shrieked out more laughter. They tossed me to the gutter then left me. Staring after their retreating forms, I just kneeled in the dirty water - think it rained the night before. My laughter died out slowly. The joke wasn't so funny when I was alone...

I pulled myself up, stumbled down the alley. Nothing was funny about what I'd gotten in to. I was just some drunk kid who hated everything worse than anyone. Drunk like my old man. Pathetic.

Didn't know where I was going. Not home, though. I guess I wandered for a while, looking for a distraction. It wasn't long before somebody found me. Couldn't tell you what her name was. She was kinda old and kept calling me "Mr. Winston" like some goddamn teacher at school. I might've told her to go to hell, but she didn't listen.

Then she forced something into my arms and bolted. Her heels clacked obnoxiously on the pavement. I barely heard her shouting, "Albany! Albany!" I didn't get it cause I'd never been there - just New York City. How long had she been holding this thing, anyway? Was it there when she'd started talking to me?

It was heavy. I just about threw the thing to the sidewalk, but some weird part of my mind started shouting so I held it tighter. Instinctively. Even though I knew you just didn't take gifts from strange old women that tracked you down in deserted alleyways. But I was drunk out of my mind and the alcohol was telling me to take it home.

By some miracle, I found my way back to my dad's place. No one was there - the old man would be gone for days at a time so I figured he wasn't coming back for a while. I let myself in, tossed the bundle on to the couch. There was some screaming, but that was probably the neighbors. I knew the guy across the street beat his wife a lot. Guess it was just her. I shrugged.

I didn't remember falling asleep, but the next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes. A familiar headache burned in my temples. Hungover again. Just as I was rolling out of bed - my dad's bed... Why wasn't I in my own? - I heard crying. And not just neighbor-across-the-street crying, but up-close-in-my-house crying.

Nothing surprised me anymore, but when I walked into the living room... I think I nearly had a heart attack. There was a baby laying on the sofa, wailing helplessly. A million things ran through my mind as I stood there. _Kill it. Dump it in some alley. Make it shut up. Help._ The last one was unexpected... Didn't know if I wanted to help the thing or if I wanted somebody to help me. Almost laughed at that. I didn't need anyone's help. Not ever. I could take care of everything on my own.

After taking a couple aspirins, I grabbed the kid and looked it over. It was fat and pink and wet with tears and its own spit. It was wrapped up in blankets, but there was something else, too. A note. I slipped it out from between two cloth folds then started reading.

 _Dally,_

 _His name is Albany. I guess he's yours and I don't want him. Do whatever._

 _\- Sylvia_

I probably should've known from the start. And I really wanted to shoot myself for being so goddamn stupid. Never knock up a two-timing bitch. She'll stick you with the kid then run off with her newest toy. Fucking slut...

The thing - Albany, I guess - just kept on crying. Maybe it - he - was hungry or something. I raided the fridge, but only found beer. And I searched through the cupboards for a good ten minutes before I leaned back on my heels and wondered what babies could eat. But I was all good. Didn't need nobody's help.

After another five minutes of solid crying, I wanted to hit the kid. If I'd been like this, my old man hating me made sense. Shook myself out of those thoughts, though. I had to do something. I was determined to not be an asshole like I usually was.

"C'mon," I mumbled to myself. "Johnny'd be real good at this. How would he...?"

I sat down on the couch and grabbed the kid again. I held him at arm's length for a bit then finally pulled him closer, resting his little head on my chest. He got quiet. Good.

It was kinda alright, actually, and I got to thinking that I could handle the kid just fine. Until there was a knock on the door, that is. I stood up nice and slow, setting the baby on the couch cushion, then answered, trying to look tougher than I felt. Nobody out there. I made the mistake of glancing down at the steps.

Two boxes. Two more babies. Shit.

Instead of listening to my gut, I pulled them inside - two girls, one named Joanna, the other Renee. The two notes that came with them were signed by different women. I didn't recognize them.

I set the girls on the couch with Albany, just stared until my eyes hurt. But I could still deal with it. No one had to know about these slobbering, tiny bald monsters. Well, they weren't that bad, I guess, cause they were quiet and I could ignore them. And if they stayed that way, we wouldn't have a problem.

Took about three minutes for them to conspire to drive me insane. They all started screaming and wailing at the same time.

"What do you want?" I shouted, violently running my fingers through my hair. "What the hell do you want?"

I knew I needed help. Hated that fact, hated myself, hated all kids but these ones especially. But I couldn't take it anymore. With all the strength I had, I snatched up the phone and dialed.

"Hello?"

Internally, I sighed in relief. I wasn't sure he'd even be home yet. "Hey. I need your help."

"Dally?" Darry asked. "You okay? What's goin' on over there? It's kinda loud. I can hardly hear ya."

"I'm fine," I said. "I just...need ya to do somethin' for me. Get here quick, alright?"

"Wait a minute. I can't just-"

"I'm serious, Dare," I interrupted. "If you ain't here soon, I'll just bring the problem to your place." He hung up and I didn't know if he was gonna come over or if he was just trying to call my bluff.

But within twenty minutes, he burst into my living room, eyes scanning the place for whatever had me so spooked - I think he'd known throughout the whole phone call that I wasn't acting like myself. That probably scared him as much as me. Anyway, the sound of the door made the kids start screaming again and I knew Darry was shocked even before I'd seen him.

He walked further into the room, looked at me in that way of his. The one that made me feel real stupid, like I was hardly older than the babies on my lap. He had nothing to say for a while, just that look. My gaze dropped. Didn't matter what happened, Darry could always make me feel ashamed...

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"Don't give me that shit," I said, getting over those dumb feelings and glaring at him. "I just... Tell me what to do."

Darry's expression softened a bit and he picked up one of the girls - Renee, maybe. He cradled her in his arms, murmuring lovingly. "See," he said, voice gentle even though he was talking to me, "ya hold 'em like this and ya gotta talk so they don't get scared."

"Like this, then."

He laughed at me. I wanted to hurt him. Kept all the hate quiet, though. At least I was good at something. Unaware of my thoughts, Darry sat next to me and guided my hands to where they were supposed to be. I'd have slapped him away if I wasn't holding this living, sniffling pile of human flesh.

"There, just like that," Darry said, taking the other girl from me. Guess I was focusing on just one for now. The boy. "Support the head. Now talk to him."

"No."

"Dallas," Darry scolded. "Talk to your son. This is what Mom did when Pony was a baby. It works, so do it."

"Fine." I coughed a bit then looked down at the baby's face. "Hey...kiddo... You're real...cute or some shit like that." I looked up at Darry, almost pleading.

He rolled his eyes. "Good enough. Let's feed 'em."

Taking the girls, he went to the kitchen. I listened as he rummaged through everything and I knew he wasn't pleased with what I had. Couldn't move from the couch - kid was surprisingly heavy. I stared a while, searching those blank baby eyes for something...human.

I couldn't find what I was looking for. The thing was strange, unearthly. What the hell? Course it wasn't weird. All babies looked like that, right? Probably. Darry didn't seem concerned. That must've been a good sign...

Eventually, he came back into the living room, still carrying Renee and Joanna. Albany was getting restless. Darry set the girls down and handed me a slip of paper.

"I made a list of everything you need," he said.

"Thanks..." Then I had an idea. I placed the boy on the couch. "I should go get those now. Watch the kids for a bit, okay? I'll only be gone an hour."

"Dal, I don't think..." Darry began. "Well, I guess I can take care of them until you come back. Be quick, though. Pony asked me to help him with a project for school so I gotta get home."

I almost felt guilty. I just nodded wordlessly and walked out the door. Buck's T-bird sat in the driveway with Darry's truck parked next to it. I got into the car, sat for a second, staring at the list. Babies were so needy... Didn't matter anymore. They were someone else's problem now.

My arms shook a bit as I reached out to grab the steering wheel. At the time, it seemed like such a hugely overwhelming betrayal and I wondered if he would hate me. Wasn't the first person. Wouldn't be the last. No, there would be three more at the least. Three kids who'd have to grow up without their father cause he was just a good-for-nothing hood. And if he'd stayed, they'd only have hated him worse, anyway.

Darry was good. He'd be a better dad. Those kids deserved...something. Didn't know what, but I guess it had to be something real nice since both parents walked out on them and they needed somebody good to care for them. They needed love. I didn't have any.

So I drove away.

When I got far enough from my dad's place, I hopped out of the car and searched for a pay phone. I found one just up the street, forced a couple coins into it then dialed. "Hey, kid. Look, I'm leavin' town for a while. I gave you the number. Call if you need anything." I hung up, got back in my car, kept on driving.

I lost count of how many years I'd been gone, but I'm back now. I park the T-bird in the empty driveway and walk into my house. The phone has about thirty messages on the machine. All Johnny. I shake my head as I listen. Thirty-odd messages and I'm pretty much caught up on everything that happened. Everything important, anyway.

They all have kids now. Even Johnny. I'm the only one running around like I'm still seventeen. Like nothing's changed. How old am I anyway? 25? 30? I don't know... I glance at the calendar on the kitchen wall. It's on the same page as when I'd left. Eighteen years ago. God... I'm 35...

The phone starts ringing again and I know who it's gonna be. But I can't stop myself from answering. I just wanna hear that voice again.

"What the hell do ya want?" I answer.

"Glory, Dally! Where have you been?" Johnny demands. He sounds mad. "I've been trying to call you for years and you never picked up."

I think for a bit, not exactly sure how to answer. "I been a lot of places. Just comin' back now." Another pause. "How's your son?"

"He's fine. Only needed a couple stitches."

"Good," I say, biting down on my lower lip cause I know I'm gonna say something stupid. But I can't keep it from slipping out. "Do...umm... Do ya know what happened? To my kids, I mean." My kids. I'd never called them that before.

Johnny gets real quiet. I'm not sure what he's thinking. Whether he's mad or confused or something else entirely. He says nothing for a long time and the only reason I don't hang up is cause I still hear his breathing on the other end.

I try again. "Are they okay?"

Finally, Johnny just explodes at me. I shrink away slightly, but not cause I'm scared or nothing. I'd just never heard Johnny talk like that before.

"You missed everything! Joanna graduated last month and you didn't even bother to show up. How can you expect to...?" He trails off and his voice gets much quieter. He mumbles a 'good night' to someone on his end then turns his attention back to me. His voice doesn't raise up again. Now he's just talking.

"Listen, Dal," he says, "you can't do this. You can't just barge into their lives again. As far as they're concerned, Darry's their dad. Not you. They don't love you. They don't even know you."

"I don't love them." It sucks, but it's all I can think to say.

Johnny snorts, probably rolling his eyes in disbelief. I want to protest. I can't cause I know he's right. I walked out and now it's too late to come back.

"Tell me about them," I say. Johnny sounds like he chokes in surprise. I'm having the same reaction deep down. Shock that I would bother asking, anger that I hadn't stuck around to see my kids - Darry's kids - grow up in the first place. Disgusted that I have to ask someone else to tell me...

Again, Johnny hesitates. But then he just starts talking. Maybe eighteen years ago, he would've left it alone. Not now. "Al's like you. Last I checked, anyway. Darry doesn't talk about it...but Al is violent and tough and a liar." Just like you remains unsaid, but I still hear it. "He dropped out of school a few years ago. I think he's spending time in jail now. Not sure, though, cause he ran off on us, too."

"And Joanna?"

"She's a good girl," he replies, a bit of a smile in his voice. "We told her about you - well, we told them all about you, but she was the only one who understood. She was sympathetic, even. Just last week, she told Dare that she felt bad for you. If... if you're gonna come back, start with her. I think she'll be quick to forgive."

I wait for him to start talking about Renee, but he doesn't. And I don't wanna ask cause I already know it's bad and I know hearing it will hurt something fierce.

"Well...thanks," I say then hang up.

 **AN - Holy crap, this is a long chapter! I'm really super proud of it, though, so I'd love to hear what you guys think. I'm still trying to think of plots for the other chapters so suggestions are very much appreciated. Thank you! :D**


	4. Chapter 4

**Reviews:**

 **Sammy - I definitely plan on doing that. The idea at the moment is to skip ahead 3 years to when Darry's biological kids are born and deal with the conflict of keeping Dally's kids around. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, though, while you wait for Darry's. And I also want to thank you again for your continued support. It really means a lot to me. :D**

 **Zarak - I'm glad you've enjoyed the story so far!**

 **Crystalteen - Aw, thank you! I'm so happy that you like them. I also like your idea, but I'm wondering if Pony would be reluctant to approach Darry about this. He knows that Darry is really stressed out because of what Dally did. But he'll absolutely go talk to Soda because he has quite a bit of experience with children (oh darn, that's kind of a spoiler, sorry :p)**

 **Fiction by Jen - I'm so glad you like my writing! It's something I'm really proud of! I'm not sure if I'll be going back and writing more for each of them, but I will say that the rest of these chapters will most likely include little sections with Dally. Like this one, for instance. And Darry's chapter will definitely focus on the Winston kids, though I haven't decided if I'll write about when Dally sees them again. Sorry I can't give you a more certain answer. ;-;**

 ** _AN - Just thought I'd let you guys know that this was gonna be Soda's chapter, but then I changed my mind. Don't know why I'm telling you this. Not like you'll get mad at me, right? Anyway, please review, follow, and favorite if you enjoy this chapter. (but mainly review because hearing your opinions is my favorite part_ _:D)_**

Chapter 4: Tim

I was in love with an angel. And I fucking hated it. Not the fact that she was good. But that I cared about her so much. Never imagined I'd be hanging out with a good girl like Cynthia - the kind who did what her daddy told her to, the kind who was always polite and proper. But what can I say? Sometimes screwing around with greasy tramps gets old. I ain't saying she was a soc. Pretty close to it, though. So her interest in me made my eyebrows raise up when she first told me.

"What're ya playin' at?" I demanded, glaring up at her from my chair at the booth. "Ya think I'm stupid or somethin'? Go home to your daddy, Doll Face."

She had guts, though. Just coming up to me while I was eating with the guys. _Who does she think she is?_ I thought, frowning angrily. A persistent girl, I guess, cause she wasn't leaving. She just folded her arms and pursed her lips.

"Not going anywhere until you get a drink with me," she said.

People turned to stare at our table like they thought they were at the fucking movies. Curly nudged me, whispering some crap about just going with her so we didn't cause a scene. I jabbed my elbow into his ribs in response.

"Listen, sweetheart, I already got a girl," I replied.

"Oh yeah? Who is she?"

Damn, she wasn't supposed to ask that. I stared at her smirking face for a bit, heart sinking cause I knew I was losing. She was good-looking, sure. But I wasn't about to risk my reputation by being seen hanging around some soc girl. And getting my ass kicked over it? Like hell! There was something in that look she was giving me, though. Too honest, too pleading...

"Alright." Couldn't believe I was just giving in. My boys snickered behind my back. "I'll get ya one drink then I ain't doin' nothin' with you again. Ya hear me?"

She nodded eagerly. "Loud and clear."

Well, turned out I thought she was real special cause one drink turned into four and one date turned into several. We started seeing each other every couple days. At that point, I was sneaking around. Knew that if Curly found out what I was up to, I'd never hear the end of it. Stupid kid loved to taunt me. Course, I always made him pay for it. But he could really get to me sometimes.

It wasn't until two years later that I actually told him about Cynthia and me. Not that I had to. He'd already guessed. And I thought maybe he didn't mind, but then he was lecturing me about how I couldn't be with her no more. Imagine it: my little brother trying to act like our dad. I hit him real hard for that one. Bruised up his face a bit.

But he kept bothering me. And he got the guys in on it, too. Somehow, they tricked me into bed with another girl. Well... Alright, I admit that I didn't put up too much of a fight... But I just thought they'd leave me alone if I did it once. Then I could go back to Cynthia and pretend nothing happened.

I was wrong. They'd told her. She was there.

She came bursting in on us before it got too heated. I thought she was gonna yell at me and beat the shit out of the girl I was with. She didn't. Tears slipped from her eyes, down her cheeks. Next thing I knew, she was sobbing and running out of the room.

Didn't care about the slut in my bed. I left her without a thought, chasing after my girl, my shirt missing and my belt undone. Cynthia hadn't gotten far. She'd collapsed just outside the house and I knelt beside her in the dirt.

"I didn't... The guys..." Couldn't say nothing cause it all seemed so bad now that I really thought about it.

"Why...?" She was crying so hard, she could barely speak. "I-I should've listened... D-Daddy told me n-not to... Thought you l-loved me... Liar... Liar..."

My heart hurt something fierce. I had to check to be sure I hadn't been physically stabbed there. Nothing. Must've been the guilt then. I stayed quiet, though. She wouldn't have believed anything I told her. I didn't deserve her trust, her love. I'd been weak. And I couldn't apologize or even break down with her cause I knew what the guys would say.

Still, I tried one more time. "Baby, don't-" Then she cut me off.

"I'm pregnant... T-Tim, I'm pregnant..." She glanced up at me and managed to calm herself slightly. "Three months... I couldn't find the right time to tell you. I thought you were gonna be so happy."

I couldn't convince her that it was all a mistake. So we decided to stay together until the baby was born cause her dad was gonna beat my ass if I didn't stick around. Once it popped outta her, I'd go.

For those six months, I didn't screw with any other girl. Hoped maybe I could change her mind, show her how much I loved her. It made me weak. I hated being weak. I hated loving her. She was one of those girls you'd do anything for. Even if it meant giving up everything you knew... Curly didn't understand yet. But he didn't get to push me around either. Cynthia was gonna be my girl and if he didn't like it, he could just fuck off.

Without getting the chance to try too hard, something real strange happened. She fell in love with me again. I've never believed in God, but that night, I thanked Him for letting her forgive me, for letting us stay together.

This time, our love was deeper, stronger. I kinda started blowing off my pals just so I could be with her more often. Even missed a rumble once cause she told me she wasn't feeling that great. And I missed a few other things, too - like holding up the hardware store or going to Buck's parties. She kept telling me she was hurting. We were too afraid to go to the hospital, though.

We didn't need them fancy doctors judging us for becoming parents too early. But by the seventh month of Cynthia's pregnancy, she was in so much pain, we knew we didn't have a choice. Her dad drove over there and we'd sat together in the waiting room while they were doing their tests on her.

They told her she was fine.

Her due date came around and I was nervous as hell. Darrel Curtis came by once to tell me it was all gonna be okay. I guess he'd know... I mean, he already had three kids and his girl was expecting another one in the next couple months.

Dally didn't visit. I'd heard rumors that he'd skipped town a few years back and that explained a lot, but still... He was my friend - kind of - and I'd wanted him to be here. Even if it was just to tell me how stupid I was for knocking up some broad.

My girl's pain continued right up until she went into labor. They'd had her laid up in the hospital bed for a week, but they didn't do nothing to help her. They let her suffer.

And at the end of all the pain, she finally gave birth to a surprisingly healthy baby girl. She named her Lauren. It was the name at the top of her list. I hadn't been a fan of it, but after all she went through just to hold the child in her arms, I figured she'd earned the right to name it.

The next year, it happened all over again. Letting her get pregnant even though I knew she wasn't strong enough, letting her feel all that pain. Then, there was another little girl in our growing family. We called this one Tracy.

Cynthia was happier than I'd ever seen her. Holding our two daughters in her arms, grinning at me like it was all okay. But it wasn't. I remember the doctor pulling me out of the room and telling me she couldn't do that again. He said she'd never fully recover from this birth. Another one would kill her.

She had other things in mind, thankfully. She wanted to marry me. Never said so, but I just knew. I wasn't good enough for her. Got no money for a ring or a nice house or anything and I wouldn't let her daddy help me out. I was determined to work like hell for it.

Fourteen years later and we still aren't married. I know she's losing her faith in me, but I can't do anything to reassure her. She deserves so much more than what I can give. That's why I'm leaving the door open. Just in case she comes to her senses and decides to marry a better man instead.

Our girls are in high school now and they're a real handful. But I never let Cynthia worry about it. She's a great mother, good with everything. The stress is too much, though, so I gotta take care of everything I can. I haven't been out with the gang in years - think Curly's the leader now.

Cynthia's been pretty sick lately, but she don't wanna see a doctor. We're all worried about her. I think Lauren hasn't eaten in a day or so. Says she ain't gonna eat till her mom gets some food in her. And Tracy's having trouble with school. She wants to drop out.

It's Monday when I start noticing things. Like how Cynthia can't get out of bed no more or how Lauren dotes on her before rushing off to school or how Tracy prays every night.

"What're ya up to, Trace?" I ask, seeing her kneel before the window.

"I'm askin' God to help Ma," she says and I sense a sad little smile on her lips. "Think He'll listen to somebody like me?"

I swallow hard cause I know I'm not good at this religious stuff. Cynthia had taught them about it ten years back. Used to drag us to church before she got sick. "Well... I know He always tries to take care of us..."

"You're right," she replies, turning to beam at me. "Thanks, Pa."

I leave her to her prayers, sighing softly. See, when the girls were young, they had a knack for swiping things. And I can't help but think about what I'd told them: _If ya'll are gonna take what ain't yours, ya either gotta be clever or ya gotta give it back._ Now, I know I have to take my own advice. I stole an angel from Heaven. I have to give her back cause I sure as hell ain't clever enough to keep her.

Quietly, I step into our bedroom where she's laying under the covers. If I'm gonna lose her, there's something I gotta do first. "Darlin'? You awake?"

"Yeah..." Her voice is no more than a breath.

"I wanna ask ya 'bout somethin'," I say, sitting on the bed beside her. Gentle as I've ever been, I caress her stone cold cheek. "Well... I know I'm real late, but... Will ya marry me, Cynthia?"

"Yes... I...will..."

Don't cry even though I really want to. But I gotta be strong for everybody so I ain't allowed to be upset. There's a knock on the front door, jolting me out of my self-pity. I tell Cynthia I'll only be gone a moment then I go to answer.

Dally's there, pacing on the steps, running his hands through his white blond hair. It's strange to see him after all these years. He don't look any different. I wonder how that's even possible. We all got old. Everybody except Dallas Winston...

"What're ya doin' here?" I sigh, stepping aside to let him in. If I hadn't, I knew he'd just barge on in, anyway. "Be quiet, would ya? My girls are tryin' to sleep."

"You too, then?" he asks. He grabs a beer from the fridge and sits on my couch while he gulps it down. "Johnny said so. Didn't believe him. Ain't no way Shepard's gone soft. That's what I told him. But he's right..."

I settle in the armchair across from him with a beer of my own. Got this feeling we'll be here all night. So I don't say nothing, just let him talk it out. He'll get to his point on his own. Don't need no help from me.

"Fuck all that responsibility shit," he continues. He finishes the bottle and fetches another one. "It ain't for me. It's really fuckin' dumb, right?"

"Right." Sometimes you just can't disagree with Dally.

"And I don't get the fuss over it all," he says, watching me with his razor eyes. I used to think blue was a gentle color, before I'd met him. Now I know how cruel blue eyes are. Now I know better. "But I been weird lately. Don't know what's wrong... I just keep thinkin' about... Fuck it! I didn't say nothin', alright?"

Don't even get the chance to nod before he's talking again. It all seems so strange, though, cause we never used to be close like this. If Dallas Winston was talking feelings, it was to complain about someone else's. He'd never have told me this eighteen years ago. I force myself to pay attention, despite my growing discomfort.

"-like a bitch... And I got these pains but I haven't done nothin' to earn 'em," he says as he finishes his second beer. "Here, in my chest, ya know? Swear I haven't been fightin', though..." He trails off and his icy gaze drops to the floor.

He's hurting real bad. That much is obvious. But he was never like this before. He wouldn't have dared to be so vulnerable. Now, it kinda sounds like he's trying to ask for help.

So I take a bit of a risk. "What d'ya need?"

I think he's shocked. His head whips up and he just stares at me. And he's got this look to him. The look of a caged animal. Like he might attack. But he doesn't. He just leans a little closer to me, trying to keep his voice down.

"Tell me what happened to Darry's kids." It sounds like he chokes on Darry's name. He doesn't react like it, though. He regains his usual calm.

"I dunno." My face flushes with anger. He disturbs my last moments with Cynthia just to ask about Darry's goddamn kids? "What the hell you think I know? I ain't friends with the guy! Last I heard, the youngest one was dead. That's it!" I'm so mad that I'm yelling. And I don't care if I wake up the girls.

I leap to my feet and grab him by the collar, giving him a violent shove. He stumbles backward, trips over the couch. Then he scrambles to his feet. He cusses at me cause the beer bottle broke when he fell and now the blood from his sliced up hand is dripping on to the rug.

He doesn't try to fight back, though - just keeps edging away. I decide to leave it. No use in fighting here. He's bleeding anyway... But I'm not done saying my piece yet, so I go on yelling.

"Get the fuck outta my house, Winston! And don't you dare come back!"

"Okay..." He goes. And I know it don't mean a thing to him cause it ain't the first time he's been kicked out and it certainly won't be the last.

Dropping to my knees, I try to pick up the shards of glass. Lauren walks in before I'm done, tears in her eyes. My heart falls, the glass shards slip from my fingers. I stand and run for the bedroom, but she holds out a hand to stop me. The other hand is clasped over her mouth, restraining her sobs.

I pull her into my arms, kissing the top of her head. She cries into my shoulder as I try to tell her that everything's gonna be okay. But then she pulls back and she's shaking her head. I catch a glimpse of a smile even though the tears cover her cheeks.

My daughter steps out of my embrace, pointing to the doorway into my bedroom. I follow her finger and Cynthia's standing there, leaning against the wooden frame. My girl has a smile on her pale face and she laughs a bit as she shakes her head.

"Heard you yelling..." she whispers, but her voice seems stronger now. "Thought you were in trouble... But it's just Dallas Winston... Ha... Never thought I'd see him again..."

Can't help but stare at her. Then I run, scoop her up in my arms, and carry her to the couch. I set her down, stare some more. A miraculous recovery. I don't believe it. How...? I glance up to the ceiling. Maybe God is real after all... Maybe he could actually hear Tracy. Maybe...

"Lauren, get your sister," I say, returning my complete attention to my wife. And thinking about all this. My girls... Wondering if Winston ever gets jealous, too, and pitying him cause he doesn't know what it's like to love this much. Love...

I wait until Tracy comes back, until her hysterical crying dies down. There's this pressure in me, though. A feeling that my whole life has been leading up to this moment. This moment when I can finally let go of the past and who I once was.

"I love you. I love you all so much." And we're all crying this time. Even me.

 **AN - Well, I'm pretty much crying. See you guys when I've recovered from this...**


	5. Chapter 5

**Reviews:**

 **BreakfastClub101 - Aw, that's so sweet of you to say! I'm glad you enjoy my work that much! The idea of seeing them all take responsibility (or run away from it) was a huge part of why I decided to write this. I mean, who doesn't want to see the gang with kids of their own? :p And a tickle fight, you say? Sounds like something for Soda's chapter.**

 **Sammy - Wish granted! Here's Darry's chapter. I hope it lives up to your expectations, seeing as how I made you wait so long for it. :D**

 **GladerTributeCamper - Thank you! I think you probably liked him more because I wrote a slightly more mature/responsible version of him. That's what happens when you have kids, I guess.**

 **Amanda - I know I already thanked you for the review, but I think you deserve a little more gratitude. So, thank you again for always being there and supporting all of my stories. You're awesome! Also, I really liked their little fight thing, too. I think that was the part I was most proud of.**

 **Zarak - I'm glad you enjoyed it! And yeah, I thought Tim needed a woman who was a little more bold, yet was intelligent and in control. I hope that came out well enough in my characterization of Cynthia. :)**

 **Fiction by Jen: Yeah, I thought he didn't have a big enough part in the actual book to be crazy interesting. At least that gave me a lot of leeway with how I wanted to write his character. As for seeing more of Dally's kids, this chapter (being Darry's) is full of them. I think Pony's chapter will include them too, but I'm not sure about Steve and Soda's chapters.**

 **4Dedicated - Glad you like my story so far! :D**

Chapter 5: Darry

I met Marlene in the spring of '66 just outside of Tulsa. We weren't really serious, not for a while. She was just the daughter of a guy whose roof I'd fixed and sometimes, when I had free time, I would take her out to lunch.

But I tried hard not to lead her on cause I liked her a lot. I was worried, though. Kept thinking of what would happen if I brought her home and Soda or Pony didn't like her. Then there was the other issue. Dally's kids. They were only a year old at the time and it was difficult to get away from them. But that wasn't exactly what I was worried about. I mean, sure, Soda was a bit too... irresponsible to take care of babies and Pony was pretty much a toddler himself. At least, that's how I saw him.

Anyway, I think what scared me the most was that I was gonna fall too deep. That I would love her more than anyone else. That she would leave when she found out about the kids. The kids... Still couldn't call them mine. It would take time for me to get used to thinking of them like that.

Deep down, I think I held on to a faint hope that Dally was gonna come back. Then he would take over as the father he wasn't ready to be. Don't think I would've fought for them either. I wanted him to do the right thing - even if it was bad for his son, his daughters.

When I figured out Dally was gone for good, I looked down at those innocent little faces. They didn't do nothing wrong. They didn't deserve what they got. I loved Dal like a brother, but I can't describe the anger I felt that day. My blood coursed through my veins with feverish heat, my hands shook. But I stayed outwardly calm. Wasn't sure how long that could last, though...

From then on, I promised myself that I was gonna go one of two ways. Either I did right or I did wrong. Do things proper or be just as bad as Dallas Winston. So I decided I'd be good. Didn't know at the time that I'd change my mind and take a less extreme viewpoint.

It was halfway through the fall of 1966 when I finally got up the courage to introduce Marley to the kids. And ya know what? She loved them. She loved them more than I ever did. Course I felt bad cause I knew I should've cared more. But that was the last proof I needed. She loved them.

I wanted a wife and Dally's kids needed a mom. I waited a month, saving up all the money I could. The moment I had enough, I went out and got a ring. Proposed in December, married in April. We'd known each other for less than a year.

"Darrel Curtis, what on earth am I gonna tell my dad?" she'd asked, giving her wedding ring a tearful smile.

That was when I realized I couldn't be all good. A good man didn't steal a girl from her father, didn't marry her without his permission. It had all been so secretive, too, cause we couldn't afford a ceremony. We signed some papers and just like that, she was mine forever. Mrs. Marlene Curtis. Damn, I loved the sound of that name.

"Don't worry 'bout it," I'd replied, pulling her into my arms. "I'll talk to him." At least I could make up for doing wrong...

I smoothed things over with her dad pretty quickly. Turned out he rather liked me. He'd said he didn't mind too much, but he expected to be told everything from then on. I was just glad he decided to not kick my ass, so I agreed wholeheartedly.

Wasn't long before I was making another trip out of Tulsa, though...

"Hey, Dare?" Marlene came to stand behind my armchair. Her voice seemed too quiet and I was instantly on my feet.

"What's wrong?" I stood facing her, a frown tugging at the corners of my lips.

"Well... It's nothing, really... I just think..." After that, I couldn't hear her. She looked down at the floor, mumbling the rest. I tried to lean in to catch the breathy words, but she'd already finished.

My eyes looked her over and it just struck me. The way she was standing with her hand resting on her stomach. "Are you...?"

"I think so..."

Without hesitating, I closed the distance between us, lifting her off the ground and twirling about like a crazed ballerina. I set her down gently, but my grin was wild. Like it used to be when I'd been running around with the gang. It'd been a while since I'd last felt like that.

In the morning, we packed the kids into our car and drove out to her dad's house. He hadn't been expecting me back so soon and he made a point of telling me so. Repeatedly. But when it came time to discuss the reason for the visit, he got real quiet. I tried to explain and he cut me off with a silent gesture. Then he turned to his little girl with a sorrowful smile.

"You're pregnant, ain't ya?"

She nodded eagerly, her nervousness from the night before completely melted away. Her dad hugged her, staring at me over her shoulder. As if he couldn't believe I'd had the nerve to do that to his baby. But he didn't say nothing, just scooped up Albany from the couch. The girls were in my arms still. Guess they liked being held more than their brother.

Marley's dad patted the boy's head, tousling his tufts of white blond hair. The moment I'd seen those pale locks sprouting up from his head a couple months back, I'd known this boy was gonna look like Dally. And I knew their similarities wouldn't stop there. Really wish I'd been wrong.

"Hey, buddy," my father-in-law said, his voice a bit softer now that he was talking to a toddler. "Your mommy's gonna give ya a brother or sister."

"No, she not," Al said, his voice high-pitched and squeaky.

Joanna giggled in my arms and pointed at her brother. "Silly!"

I should've been happy, sitting there with my pregnant wife and my three two-year-old kids. But I couldn't manage a smile. Cause they weren't my children. Albany with his fiercely blue eyes, Joanna with her platinum curls, and sweet little Renee who scarcely ever spoke a word. They were Dally's and Marley had no idea. It just wasn't right.

At that moment, Albany kicked his way out of his grandfather's arms and toddled around the living room. I watched him for a while as he searched for something to play with. Then I felt Joanna squirm so I let her go join him. Renee stayed with me, curled against my chest, hiding her face in my shirt.

My heart sank and tears started forming in my eyes. I'd have to give them up one day, even if Dally never came back for them. I blinked a couple times, regaining control of myself, then stroked Renee's medium brown hair.

"Sweetie, ya wanna play with Al and JoJo?" I asked.

"No.."

"How 'bout ya play with Grandpa?" I suggested, already knowing what her answer would be. And that made me feel worse.

"No..."

I frowned slightly. Sometimes, it really worried me how much she clung to me. Like I was her actual dad. It wasn't that, though. My concern was with her lack of interaction with anyone else. She never played with her siblings, she never asked her mother to read her bedtime stories. Just me.

Slowly, I stood up, giving her time to wrap her arms around my neck. I turned to Marley's dad. "Could you watch the other two? I need to talk to Marley for a minute."

Didn't wait for his response. Instead, I took hold of Marlene's wrist and pulled her outside. She went willingly, but she had a frown tainting her features. We stood facing each other for too long. Her eyebrows raised up and, despite holding Renee in my arms, I finally spoke.

"They ain't mine..."

She smiled delicately, placing her hand on my upper arm. "I know." There was a brief silence, as if she was waiting for me to reply, but I didn't. "What happened?"

"My buddy - Dallas Winston - he's their dad," I said, unconsciously hugging Renee closer to my chest. "Their mothers dropped 'em at his doorstep one day and... Well, he didn't know what to do, I guess. He called me for help then just took off after I got there. Haven't seen him since..."

"I see," she said.

When I asked her if she was mad, she told me she wasn't. She'd said that she was grateful cause if Dallas Winston hadn't left, she wouldn't have four beautiful babies. I realized that she also wouldn't have had a husband so soon either. If it hadn't been for Dallas Winston... Guess I owed him more than I thought.

We went back inside and never spoke of that again. Our lives just went on like normal - without any thoughts of Dallas. Too bad good things never last...

Marley was about six months pregnant when she started going to one of those first-time mother support groups. Of course, I was thrilled that she found people who understood exactly what she was going through. But, I admit to being worried, too. She kept telling me about poor Cynthia - a fairly young woman, experiencing severe stomach pain.

"We keep tellin' her she's gotta go to the clinic, ya know?" Marley was saying one night after we'd put the kids to bed. "But she don't wanna disappoint Tim."

I nodded slowly, not really listening.

"Ya know him, don't ya? Tim Shepard?"

I looked up at that. "You sayin' Shepard's gonna be a father?" I asked, fairly certain that the Tim I'd known would've never bothered with starting a family. He was gonna be a kid forever. Like Dally.

Marley bit her lip. "Well... We ain't sure. She might lose the baby..."

I couldn't stop thinking about that. Tim Shepard was gonna be a dad. It occupied my mind for weeks until I finally decided to go see him. Don't know if he was pleased when I showed up on his doorstep. All I knew for sure was that he was stressed.

His face was red and eyes tired and, if I had to guess, I'd have said he hadn't eaten in a while. Good to know he was taking it seriously.

So I told him what I could. That it was all gonna be okay, that being a father was probably the best thing that ever happened to me. He accepted my words with a small nod, but told me nothing about how his girl was doing. We said goodbye and haven't spoken since. Cynthia and Marley are still friends, though, and so are the kids.

On March 27, 1968, my wife gave birth. To twin boys. It was unexpected to say the least. And while she worried over names, my mind thought only of the bills. Four kids was gonna be bad enough. Now we had five.

She named the oldest Theodore and the youngest Wesley. I just put my signature on the birth certificates. That's what it felt like, anyway, cause I could hardly focus on anything.

We picked up Albany, Joanna, and Renee from Soda and Pony's apartment then brought them all back home. I started looking around when we got there, really looked. It was strange to see it so full of little Curtis kids. And Curtis parents... But there wasn't space for us anymore. We'd have to move someplace bigger before the twins grew out of sleeping in their parents' bedroom. The realization tore me up inside.

Before we knew it, the day had gone. Night had replaced it and all the kids were sound asleep. My wife and I stood in our room, getting ready for bed. Marley leaned over the crib as she watched the newborns settle in for their first night at home.

"Darry, they're so beautiful," she whisperered, glancing back at me. "I ain't ever lettin' go of 'em. Not a single one."

"I know, dear. I know."

Fifteen years passed and here we are. Still in the same house and sorely aware of our inability to keep our promise. The promise that we'd never let go. But how can a word ever dream of standing against life?

We lost Renee three years ago and Albany, too. He ain't dead, he's just been in and out of jail for the past couple years. When he gets out, he doesn't come home. I don't know where he goes, but he's still welcome here. I wish he would figure that out. He must've inherited his complete disregard for human emotion from Dally. Don't get me wrong, Albany does have feelings. He just doesn't understand that there are people who care about him.

Every day, I wish I'd never told them about Dally. He ruined their lives without even meeting them. If I ever see him again, I'm gonna make him pay.

It's pretty late at night when God decides to give me a surprise. I'd already had a bad day. My alarm didn't wake me up then my boss yelled at me for being late then I got home and had to deal with a call from Theo's principal. The kid's always getting in trouble. He's just like Albany and I'm sick of it.

But now, I get this wonderful nonsense to handle. It begins with a knock on the door. I answer it promptly, in spite of the hour, cause if someone's banging on your front door at midnight, you know there's trouble.

And Dally stands there on the steps, swaying gently. I can already smell the alcohol on him, though I haven't inhaled yet. He stares at me, his eyes foggy and angry, but he doesn't say anything. I stare back, right into his bloodshot eyes, unconsciously tracing the red squiggles that are his blood vessels.

"Lemme see my kids, Curtis," he slurs as he takes a clumsy step forward.

I push him away, stopping his advance. "Like hell I'm lettin' ya in this house when you're nothin' but a drunken fool. Come back if ya ever sober up." I slam the door in his face.

 **AN - Okay, I know there isn't a lot about the twins in here, but I hope you liked the chapter anyway. :) And as always, please review, follow, and favorite this story if you're enjoying it so far!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Reviews:**

 **Fiction by Jen - To be honest, it's not exactly how I'd imagined it either. But once I started writing, the chapter just seemed to happen like that. I hope it wasn't too much of a disappointment for you. :)**

 **Amanda - Yeah, he's a little rough, but at the end of the day, it's because he just wants to keep his loved ones safe. That's my favorite way of characterizing him. And you're welcome! I always want people to know they're appreciated. :D**

 **Sammy - Aww, thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying the story. So, you shouldn't have to wait too long for Pony's chapter because I already have an idea for it. Steve's is gonna be a problem, though. I have no idea what to do with him (probably cause I never really liked him). But anyway, I hope you like this chapter!**

 **GladerTributeCamper - Haha! No, I'm not a famous author. I do have a couple of my own original stories, though. And it's kinda my goal in life to get published. (and having lots of fans cause I would just die of happiness if people wrote fanfictions about my novels xp)**

 _ **AN - I feel like this took a long time to update... Sorry about that. I'll try to be better in the future, but right now it's difficult because final exams are coming up next week and I'm super stressed about them. Anyway, please love this chapter to bits and review/favorite/follow this story. Thank you! :D**_

Chapter 6: Soda

Darry had lied to me. I don't think it was intentional, but it stung anyway. He'd always been honest, even when we were kids, and I'd never thought that maybe he could tell me a lie sometimes. It was kinda sad. I never doubted him back then. I don't mean to make him sound bad, cause really I've loved him for as long as I can remember. A life without him wouldn't be worth living - of course, we'd go on as usual even though it'd suck cause that's what he'd want us to do.

Well, the point is, he'd been dishonest long before I realized he could just lie to your face without feeling guilty. He didn't do it often and that was something, at least. There are only two times I can think of if a person asks me about the things Darry'd lie about. The first being when he told me the kids were his (and, I mean, I probably should've been able to tell cause Albany looked like a mini Dallas, but I dropped out of school for a reason, you know?).

The second time was the one that angered me the most. His lie was real stupid and I'm almost ashamed of the way I'd yelled at him for it. Guess I just wasn't expecting to prove him wrong like that. I couldn't have prepared myself and I think that's what made it so bad.

When Darry had told me that love at first sight didn't exist, I believed him. There was no reason to doubt cause I knew he had to get used to the idea of being with Marley like that. But they really do make a good couple and I'm glad he decided to marry her. She's always been good to me and Pony - kinda like an older sister or maybe even a mom.

Anyway, it was the fall of 1971 when I first saw Susan Hartly. And damn was Darry wrong about love! I hadn't even talked to her yet, but I knew she was the one for me. Unrealistic, sure. What can I say, though? I'm a bit of a romantic.

She had come down to the DX cause her car was making weird noises and there was some rattling in the steering wheel. When she found me, she walked right up, started talking cars like she really knew them. And she did. I still wonder why she even bothered getting it fixed professionally cause I'm pretty sure she could've done it on her own. Not that I'm complaining.

It was a real tuff-looking 1965 Shelby Cobra, sleek black paint and not a single dent - the complete opposite of Darry's banged up truck. I was all too happy to work on it for her, especially since she kept me company as I did. Honestly, it had to have been love. Nothing else could describe that jittery, heart-pounding feelings I got while talking to her.

The only problem was that I was pretty sure she had a husband. I didn't see a ring - and trust me, I looked - but she had a five year old boy with her and she was quite obviously pregnant. I guessed she was around eight months in.

"Your husband gonna pay for this?" I knew it was rude, but I couldn't stop myself. I had to know without a single doubt that she was already taken.

She raised an eyebrow at me.

I felt a blush creep into my cheeks and I immediately tried to backtrack. "I-I don't mean that ya can't pay with your own money. Cause I know women have jobs too. But, um... Well, I just was askin' so I... Glory, this is comin' out all wrong..."

Susan laughed at me until her whole body turned red. "You're so cute," she said as she calmed down. "I don't mind talking about my marital status, you know. And since you're trying so hard to figure it out, I'll just tell you. Mr. Hartly and I divorced six months ago. I guess you can use this information however you want to, now that you have it."

Her son - Chris - didn't look too pleased, but that couldn't discourage me. We saw a lot more of each other from then on. I tried to be real good to him, copy what I remembered of Dad's fathering skills. It took forever for him to warm up to me, though. And all the while, I had Darry getting mad at me. It wasn't too bad since we didn't live together anymore, but every chance he got, he was telling me how much of a horrible idea this relationship was. That was one of the only times I'd ever experienced Pony's negative feelings about Darry firsthand.

I met Mr. Hartly after only a month of going out with his ex-wife. He was at the hospital when Susan gave birth to her second son, a little too eager to sign the papers for a man who'd said he never wanted to see her again. We clashed the moment he saw me.

"So you're the kid my Susie's seeing." He sneered as his eyes scanned over my body. "Listen, I don't want you thinking you can just march in here and steal her from me. She's mine, you greasy little punk. Got that?"

"Ain't you two divorced?"

He laughed at me then pushed his way into Susan's hospital room. I sat by the receptionist's desk, anxiously cracking my fingers while I waited for the good news. It came too late. I'd already been forced to handle the pain of everyone around me. There were girls screaming at the other end of the hall and babies crying and men groaning and countless wails that varied in intensity depending on the disease.

By the time a nurse came to fetch me, I was nearly in tears. Somewhere along the line, I'd convinced myself that the pain of the patients belonged to me as well. I got up at the woman's urging and let her drag my mentally abused body into Susan's room.

Mr. Hartly glared at me as I entered, but said nothing. He didn't have to cause he had the newborn in a possessive embrace and I knew what that meant. The boy was his. The law would always favor him. Not that I planned on fighting him for the right to be Chris and Shawn's father. I just didn't like the idea of having to share.

Over the next year, me and Sue got even closer. Her divorce had been successfully completed about seven months after Shawn was born (apparently, it wasn't fully over when I'd met her cause she was pregnant and they had to wait to talk about the custody issue until after the child had been delivered). I was just happy she was relatively free from that ass. The kids had to spend their weekends with him, but on the rest of the days, they were with their mom. And me.

Chris kinda got used to me after a while, too. The first time we really bonded was about two years after Shawn had been born. We were having a picnic - Sue, Chris, Shawn, and I - when Sue got some emergency call from her work. She left the kids with me then bolted.

It was weird at first cause I'd never been alone with them before. But I knew how to handle kids since I'd been an uncle for eight years. At that point, I was silently thanking Darry for forcing me to watch the Winston siblings. See, when I was younger, no one thought I could be trusted with anything, especially not another human life. Even Darry wasn't too thrilled about leaving his kids - sorry, Dally's kids - with me. But when he did, I found out that I actually really liked children and wanted some of my own.

Anyway, it was me and the two boys and we were just sitting there. I had Shawn on my lap with Chris staring me down from across the blanket. He looked upset so I took a chance, asked him what was wrong.

"Is my daddy a bad man?" he asked in return.

The question caught me off guard. What could I have said? How would I have stayed unbiased in my answer? You were supposed to be kind when you talked about a boy's no-good father. That's what Darry told me once. And of course he knew what he was saying. He'd had to tell Albany about Dally, after all.

"Well... Why're ya askin'?" I replied, quietly ashamed of my response.

"I dunno. Just wonderin'." He shrugged and returned to his sandwich. Before too long, he was looking at me again with his innocent eyes. "Why don't I see him anymore?"

I wished he'd stop with his questioning. But I didn't want him to know that I couldn't answer properly so I just made something up. "Ya see, it's cause your daddy's real busy. He has to make money for your family. Know how ya never have to worry 'bout not havin' enough food? Well, that's what your dad does for ya."

It wasn't a complete lie cause the court ruled that Mr. Hartly had to pay Sue every month to help with paying for their basic needs. But I still felt awful about deceiving the little guy. I shook my head to clear the thoughts then took another bite of my sandwich.

"I wish you were my daddy..." Chris mumbled, his small face turning bright red from the embarrassment. "I like you more..."

I didn't reply. But I was pretty much glowing after he said that.

The next month, he got his wish. I married his mother. It wasn't planned. We rushed into it. I think it must've been the threat of Mr. Hartly coming back around and getting between us. She didn't seem to care too much, though. I guess she just wanted to be together as quickly as possible. We didn't even have a fancy ceremony or whatever. There was a barbecue in Darry's backyard with our closest friends and then we signed the papers. I moved out of the apartment I shared with Pony soon after that.

Within a year, we had a baby of our own - a son named Benjamin. We joked about how unlucky Sue was. Three boys... Well, my mom handled it so I was sure my wife could too. And I'd be there to help out any way that I could.

The boys got along surprisingly well as they grew up. They were best friends. And me and Darry had more to talk about since we were both fathers. Our kids liked to hang out sometimes, especially when my brother asked me to baby-sit Al, Renee, and Jo. Pony was responsible for Theo and Wes. Didn't know why Darry didn't have me watch all five. Maybe he thought it would've been too much for me.

1980 was the worst year of my life. It made me wish I'd never known Dally's kids. It made me wish that Dal had just taken them with him. Wherever the hell he'd gone...

Darry was out with Marley, visiting her father in the country. Stubborn bastard wouldn't go see a doctor for his stomach pain. They were gonna convince him to get it checked out. Course they didn't want the kids to go, so as usual, I got the Winston children and Pony got the twins. Later on, I wished Pony had switched kids with me. It was real selfish, but I couldn't help it.

"Uncle Soda?" Jo asked, giving me a smile sweet enough to rot teeth. "Can I go to Anna's party tonight? Please?"

"He ain't our uncle," Al grumbled, glaring at the floor. "And Darry ain't our dad. So quit callin' 'em those things."

"Stop it..." Renee whispered.

I sighed cause I knew that they were always fighting with each other. Ever since Darry told them about Dally. It was a mistake. He shouldn't have said anything. Why did he lie to everyone else if he was only gonna tell the truth in the end? A terrible truth...

"Yeah, Jo, go ahead," I replied then I turned to Albany, summoned my most threatening expression. "Ya best shut your mouth, kiddo. I don't wanna hear ya for the rest of the night, got it?"

"Fuck that." He followed Joanna out of the house.

I choked down my anger. That boy had some nerve. Guess he didn't know I could beat his ass easily. Well, I could've if there weren't all those laws protecting kids and I had no interest in going to jail right then. Darry would've made sure I payed for every bit of pain I caused the family. That scared me so much more than a jail cell ever would so the night went on as usual. Shawn and Ben were playing in the living room, Chris went to see a movie with some friends, Renee hid in the guest room.

When it got late, I put the boys to bed. I stayed with them for about an hour, reading from one of their books so they'd get tired quicker. Sue was already asleep. Her day at worked had been exhausting. And I really didn't mind that she couldn't wait for me to go to sleep with her.

After I finished the chapter, I changed into my sleep sweatpants and brushed my teeth. There was something weird in the air as I got ready for bed. I couldn't place it. I had these strange jitters all over, especially in my stomach. Maybe it was just one of those days. Maybe there was something horribly wrong. I didn't know until I'd passed by the guest room and saw the light creeping out of the space between the door and the floor.

"Renee, you alright?" I asked, knocking lightly on the wood. I thought she might've fallen asleep and I really didn't want to disturb her. But my gut started screaming about how suspicious this all seemed so I turned the knob, quickly peeked into the room - just to see that she really was asleep.

And there she was. Sprawled on the floor with an empty pill bottle still clutched in her hand. I didn't have to check. I knew she was gone. It felt like it was my fault. Why hadn't I seen this coming? I should've known. I should've been able to save her. I should've locked the medicine cabinet. Without being able to understand what was happening, I fell onto my knees in the doorway, started crying harder than I ever had before.

On June 13, 1980, there was a dead girl in my house and she was 15 years old.

I called an ambulance first. Then I called Darry. I still remember the sound of his voice, how he choked on the words as he demanded to know why I let the tragedy happen. He refused to cry. I, on the other hand, sobbed openly, trying to explain. But there was nothing to say. No spoken word could ever make any of this okay. Never.

Darry rushed over as soon as I called. It took a little while since they were out in the country, but he got there pretty quickly in spite of the distance. He even showed up before the ambulance did - not sure how, but there were five minutes between the arrival of my brother and that of the doctors. He pushed me out of his way then entered the guest room.

The look on his face when he saw her... It broke my heart. I'd only seen it once before - at the funeral for our parents - but I never wanted to see that expression again. He gathered her body in his arms, gently rocking her back and forth like she was a baby. His eyes met mine for just one moment, yet I understood everything he meant to say. Renee's death was my fault and he'd never forgive me.

That was three years ago. We still haven't healed. If anything, it's even harder now than it was before. It feels like we abandoned her as time went on cause we have no choice but to move forward. But she can't follow. She'll be 15 forever.

Jo is with me today and Al's here too. He was let out of jail yesterday. I know he's gonna go back soon, so I really wanna spend as much time with him as possible. He hates Darry. I think he kinda likes me, though. At least, that's how it's been since Renee died. Maybe it's just cause me and Darry don't exactly get along anymore. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, I guess...

Me and Ben are in the living room, the tv blaring in the background. Albany's watching something that's probably not child appropriate and Joanna scolds him. She took an immediate liking to my youngest, often babying him on accident.

"He ain't watchin'," Albany says, glaring at Ben from across the room. "And what is he, anyway? Nine? Accordin' to our dad, that's almost old enough to be gettin' arrested."

"I don't wanna hear it," Jo replies as she crosses her arms. "You been hauled in by the police twice today. Lucky for you, they ain't in a mood to let ya back into their cells." She huffs angrily then sits down next to him, whispering something so I can't hear it.

He laughs a bit and shoves her away. "Go see your boyfriend with that shit," he teases.

That definitely grabs my attention, but I know it's not my place to say anything. I'm just their adopted uncle. Instead, I turn all my thoughts back to my son. He's growing up too fast, I think. With two older brothers and a pair of mature cousins, it's difficult for him to be a kid for so long. It must be taking forever in his mind. I wish he'd slow down, though.

"Hey, Benny," I say, grinning. I can't help it cause I have a real good idea brewing.

"Yeah, Dad?"

I pounce on him, tackling the boy to the floor. Playfully, of course. Nothing that would hurt him. As I pin him down, I lift up my hand and waggle my fingers in his face. His eyes go wide and the protests tumble over his bottom lip. My grin widens as I lower my fingertips to his stomach almost ceremoniously. I let them flutter a bit then, without warning, proceed into a full force tickling attack. He curls around my hand, shrieking with laughter.

Before I can make Ben cry for mercy, there's a banging on the front door. I pull my hand away and stand up to go answer, leaving my son gasping for air on the floor. Silently, I'm hoping it's Darry. He hasn't set foot in my house since that horrible day in 1980. I just want to be okay with him again...

But it isn't my brother that's standing there with his hands shoved into his jeans pockets. It's Dally. A young-looking, carefree Dally. He barely looks any different from the last time I saw him - eighteen years ago. I almost couldn't believe it. Sure, I'd heard rumors that he was back in town, but I didn't think they were true. And why would he ever come visit me? We'd never been all that close as kids. The only nice thing I'd ever done for him was snagging Frankie McAlester's phone number in the seventh grade. And the only favor he'd ever done for me was bringing Pony the letter I'd written for him when he was in Windrixville.

"Is Darry here?" he asks, eyes trying to stare over my shoulder.

"No," I say.

"Is Joanna?"

I hesitate for a while. Didn't Darry say we couldn't ever let the kids meet their real father? Well, I tell myself that isn't fair and I step aside, gesturing for him to come in. He's trying not to run, trying to stay calm. But I know he's nervous, desperate. I follow him into the living room.

All the conversations cut off. The kids stare at us, confusion and pain and anger flooding over their once happy expressions. Relatively happy, anyway - Albany always looks angry nowadays. Jo gets to her feet, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her hand reaches towards Dally, though it's nowhere near close enough to touch him.

"D-Dad...?" The voice is no more than a whisper, yet it transforms a grown woman into a little girl again. She runs to us, throwing her arms around Dally. "I knew it. I-I knew you were gonna come back..."

He stands rigidly still, just letting his daughter hold him and cry on his shoulder. His eyes shift to me. I see the question in them like he's asking me what to do. But I can't give him a better answer, only a shrug.

Albany stands up as Joanna pulls back from the hug. He grabs her shoulder - a little harder than he'd intended cause she winces - and forces her away from their father. "Don't go actin' like that. This man don't got no love for us." He glares at Dally as he guides his sister back to the couch.

"I shoulda stayed..." Dally says.

"Well, ya didn't," Albany replies, voice bitter. "No point comin' back now. So get the fuck away from us. We don't need a father no more. We wouldn't even give a shit if ya died before ya came here. Renee's dead cause of you..."


	7. Chapter 7

**Reviews:**

 **Fiction by Jen - Thanks! I was really hoping you'd like that one. Personally, I thought I did a good job with incorporating the whole Dally and kids plot line into Soda's story. Anyway, thank you so much for your continued support! :D**

 **Sammy - I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. And I'm sorry I made you sad with Renee's death. But it had to happen, you know? But yeah, I also thought that having Dally meet his surviving children was necessary and I think the scene was nicely written. Just my humble opinion, lol.**

 **Amanda - Did I reply to you in pm already? If I didn't, thanks for reviewing. It means a lot to me, knowing that you liked the chapter so much.**

 **GladerTributeCamper - It's not that it's Soda's fault. The problem is that Darry trusted Soda to keep the kids safe and then he finds out that Renee died while Soda was supposed to be taking care of her. Everyone is just really hurt after what happened, but I'm sure their relationship will fix itself. And, if it's any consolation, Renee's suicide is Dally's fault, like Albany said.**

 **Zarak - :D**

 **4Dedicated - I know we already talked about this, but I just want to reiterate that nothing bad will happen to Marley's dad. So don't worry. :) Hope you keep on reading and reviewing!**

 **TheViewFromTheAfternoon - Thanks again for reading through the previous chapters. I hope you'll continue to enjoy this story!**

 **FrankElza - Thank you for all the reviews! I'm so glad you like the story and I hope you find this chapter to be just as good as the others. :)**

 _ **AN - After last chapter, I figured everyone could use a bit of a break from sadness. So I tried to make this chapter as happy as possible (don't know if it worked, but hey, I tried, right?). Please enjoy and keep on reviewing. Love you guys! :)**_

Chapter 7: Two-Bit 2

"Happy birthday, Amelia!" I open up the blinds in her room, letting the morning sunbeams fall across her closed eyelids. She rolls over, burying her face in the pillow. With a smirk, I get up on her bed and start jumping. "C'mon, you're ten! Get outta bed, Double-Digits!"

She groans, sits up, and throws her pillow at me. "Dad, knock it off!" She can't help but smile, though. And that makes my own grin widen.

I hop back down to the floor, shrugging. The pillow had fallen on to the carpet so I stoop to pick it up. Amelia jumps onto my back while I'm distracted. In spite of myself, I cry out in surprise before dissolving into laughter. I playfully try to shake her off for a bit then back up to the wall with an evil chuckle.

"No, Daddy! Don't crush me!" she protests, digging her heels into my side. The little bells of her giggles ring out and she kicks into my ribs lightly until I set her down on the floor. She smooths the thin fabric of her night gown, grins up at me, her cheeks blazing red from exertion. Then she musters up every ounce of dignity she has left and says, "Thank you. So... Whatcha makin' me for breakfast?"

"What? I thought _you_ were gonna make _me_ breakfast," I tease as I lead my daughter into the kitchen.

"Daddy!"

"Kidding, kidding! Please don't hit me." I try to keep a straight face even though we both know I can't manage it. Sometimes, I'm just so irresistibly funny that I have no other choice but to break down into hysterics. And that's exactly how it is today. Amelia isn't impressed and she smacks my arm in that delicate way of hers.

I'm not sure if she can hit any harder than that. Savannah wasn't much of a fighter, so I figure Amelia is the same. My throat still tightens when I think of my wife - hell, it never loosened up again after I'd been told of the accident. Her death has been a constant noose secured around my neck. But I have to keep being strong for Amelia cause she can't heal if I don't help her.

My daughter... God, I love her so much. There isn't a thing I wouldn't do for her. I guess that's good since life don't get no easier. Not when we're on our own like this. Sure, my sister stops by every now and again, but it's not the same as coming home to your beautiful wife day after day. No one can replace her. For the longest time, though, I'd thought that maybe Amelia would be the spitting image of my dear Savannah. But as the years passed us by, I realized that I was wrong.

Each day, the miniature copy of the woman I loved became more and more tainted. She looks like me now. Same face, same laugh. Even her hair - once golden blonde - had rusted into my shade of red. At least eyes don't ever change. She'll always have Savannah's eyes. So it must be some consolation to me then.

It seems wrong, though, cause I'm just watching her watch me with her mother's expectant eyes and I can't keep my mind from wandering back. Ten years ago, Santa-fe... I shake myself violently, hearing Amelia's voice crying out for me, pulling me from the daydream.

"Yeah, Sweetie?" I ask.

"I... It looked like you were thinkin' about Mommy again..." Her voice gets real quiet and I can barely hear her. She keeps dropping her eyes to the floor. It's kinda easier when I can't see them cause I pretend she's got my eyes instead and there's no proof to say otherwise. At least for a moment, anyway.

I shrug - a bit too carelessly for my liking. "Only a little. But let's just forget about that, alright?" Forget that we have to go on with our lives. Forget that there was ever a woman named Savannah Mathews. I tell myself it's better this way and I almost believe. It's painful, though, so I change the subject. "What do ya wanna eat, Princess? I'll make anything."

She allows her thoughts to be guided away from her mother. I sigh inwardly, relieved that little girls were easy to distract. I don't want to know what'll happen when the promise of food no longer works like this...

"How about... Waffles!" She flashes a smile, showing off her slightly crooked teeth and the hole left by the one she lost last week. "But ya have to make 'em special, okay?"

"Now how d'ya suppose I do that?" I allow another grin to take over my features cause I already know the answer. And _she_ already knows that my question is meant to tease her for always wanting the same breakfast. Although, I suppose she's caught on to my humor by now - enough to be able to turn the tables on me in a heartbeat. Which she apparently decides to do today. Can't say why she changed the usual routine, but I'm awful proud that she did.

Her blue eyes dance mischievously as she relays her answer. "Well, whatcha got?"

"Not much, you know," I say as I fold my arms over my chest.

My daughter's smile fades and I feel my heart sink to new depths. Back in the 60s I don't think I knew just how much it hurt to see a kid upset. Especially a kid I care about. Guess I couldn't have imagined this then - being a dad. It's more than a word, more than blood. A bond between father and child is sacred. And growing up, I'd never known that. So I have to make things good for her. She deserves better than this, but she's stuck with me now.

Anyway, I know I gotta cheer her up. It takes all the strength I got to stay completely emotionless, to act like a proper adult. Little tears bead in her eyes and I pull her into my arms. I can't look at her when she cries. Cause I stop seeing my daughter. Then it's Savannah standing there in a childish pink night gown, weeping gently. That hurts more than Amelia's sadness. My wife is dead... Why is she still feeling this pain? Dead people ain't supposed to hurt when they're in Heaven...

I shake these thoughts from my head, just focus on the hug. It works well for us. I can't look at her and she feels more secure with her face buried in my chest, anyway. It's not sad. I promise myself it'll never be then I let her go.

"Don't cry on your birthday, Sweetie," I say, tenderly caressing her cheek, brushing away the tears and stray pieces of hair. "We can go out to eat. That'll be special, right? Yeah. Yeah, course it will. When was the last time we went to a restaurant? Far too long. So, do ya wanna do that instead? Or maybe we could got to the store? Buy what you want then come back?"

"But we don't got any money..." She looks down at her feet for a while. I can't argue with her, though, and we both know it. Bills come first. Always. But then she turns her face up and I see a smile. "Just normal waffles will be good. As long as we eat 'em together, okay?"

I nod. Sometimes I can't tell which of us is the adult. She's just so good, so wonderfully generous and caring and - well, I can go on forever, but I won't. Cause it's enough to say that she's everything Savannah was. She's everything I'm not. Is it alright to be jealous like this? I hope so...

After I make the waffles, after we eat together in silence, she opens her present. Only the one. Some kids got tons of gifts, even if they were greasers - funny, still thinking in terms of greasers and socs - but I can barely afford the house we live in. As it is, those sharks don't leave me alone. Always collecting something from us. But I'd managed to have a bit of cash left over for a real special present this month.

Her whole face lights up as she opens the small box and pulls out her gift. It's a delicate locket, the front decorated like a compass and the back engraved with an address. 653 Valley Drive, Santa-fe, NM. She turns the silver pendent over in her hands - once, twice, three times - then carefully opens it. Empty. Confused blue eyes turn to me and I can't keep the smile from stretching across my lips.

"The locket's where you came from," I explain. "The picture's where you're goin'. Ya understand?"

A slow nod. "I think so... You mean that I get to choose, right? What goes in here, what my future's gonna be. But what if I don't know?"

"Leave it open till ya do."

xxxxxx

Her party starts only a couple hours after that. She's put on the necklace, swears on her life she'll never take it off. I don't think she knows what that means. But I appreciate her words regardless. At least I could make her happy again. That's all that matters to me now. Keeping my little girl from crying, protecting her from the bad things in this world. Lord knows there're too many of those. Maybe she hasn't noticed yet and I wish it could stay like that forever.

The guests arrive, just a few this time. Amelia's never liked crowds. I think they scare her, but I can't understand why. When she's with me, she's amazing. Always smiling, laughing, joking. Barely speaks with anybody else, though.

And this time is no different. She stays by my side, gripping my hand like a lifeline, timid as she replies to the guests' well-wishing. To be fair, most of the people at the party are my friends and their kids. Amelia only talks to a few girls at school, after all. They're here, but she says she's scared and don't wanna talk to them. I feel bad for her, sometimes wonder if she's lonely...

A woman approaches us, kneels down so her eyes are level with my daughter's. "Happy birthday, Amelia. Ten's a big deal, ya know. You oughta be proud." She smiles, pats the little girl's head, then stands up properly. Icy blue eyes meet mine. Her hand extends almost hesitantly as if she is unsure of whether or not she wants to touch me. But that warm smile never fades from her expression. "Thanks for inviting me, Mr. Mathews."

"Sure thing, Joanna," I reply, taking her hand. Shake it once, let it drop. My gaze falls on Amelia, still at my side. "Hey, Sweetie, why don't ya go show off your new locket to Aunt Julia? And your friends too - bet they wanna see it."

"Okay, Daddy..." She's slow to detach herself from me, but quick to run for her aunt. Relief floods over me. I'm immediately guilty for it.

Joanna watches my daughter go, fussing with the bracelet on her left wrist. Nothing wrong with it, not that I can see, anyway. Guess her fingers just need something to do. I wonder what she's thinking about. Haven't ever been real good at reading people, but I try now. Try to see beyond her eyes, find what she's hiding from everyone.

When Amelia's out of sight, Joanna returns her eyes to me. The smile is gone, not even a ghost of it remaining on her lips. She doesn't say a word, just stares. I can't tell if she's angry or only unable to find the right words. But at this point, it doesn't really matter.

The party goes on around us and we're frozen at it's core. There's nothing funny in my head. Jokes, jibes, all of it - gone. She has this way of watching me, making me so uncomfortable that I could squirm. I want to hide from her yet she always seems to find me. And the way our relationship works is eerily familiar, like I've felt it all before.

"Cute kid," she says at last, allowing her expression to soften by half a degree.

"Thanks."

She frowns at me, brushes her fingertips against the metal of her bracelet once more. Forcing her hand back to her side, she stands up a little taller. Her eyes get fierce. Scary fierce, too determined. I know she's come here for something, but I don't got a clue what that is. A soft hum of dissatisfaction vibrates on her thin lips before she finally decides that I'm too stupid for her games.

"Take me inside," she demands. "I need a drink."

I gesture to the picnic table which holds pitchers of water and lemonade, along with a dozen bottles of Coke. "Drinks are over there."

"Quit playin, Mathews. You know what I want." Her lips curl into a vicious snarl, animal-like in its intensity. There's definitely something I recognize about that expression and the thought distracts me from her. Someone else at some point in my life used to look at me just like that. Damn, why can't I remember? I'm not that old...

Growing impatient, she grabs my wrist and pulls me into my house. I stumble into the kitchen, thrown off balance by all her yanking. My shoulder's already a bit sore. Glad she lets go when she does else it might've popped out of its socket.

She rummages through my fridge, finds nothing. I hear a growl rise in her throat as she turns on me. But I just shrug it aside and taunt her a bit - cause she really oughta know where I keep my liquor by now. I'm ashamed of it, wish I could change what happened. Can't, though, so I figure I gotta run with it. Stop thinking about how screwed up this whole situation is. She devised the setup. I agreed. And now I get the feeling she's sick all cause I didn't stop her the first time.

I tell her that she's gotta find it if she wants it, that I won't give it to her. Last thing I want is a drunk girl running around at my ten year-old's birthday party. I can't help her ruin something so important to my tiny family. She screams at me, pounds her fists into my chest until we're both breathless and she has to stop. I feel the weight of her body press into mine as she stands there, her fingers clinging to the front of my shirt.

Her light panting abruptly turns uneven and I realize that she's crying. If I thought it was awkward before... I wrap an arm around her, using my free hand to stroke her pale blonde locks. She sniffles lightly, lets me soothe her for a while. Before long, though, she's working herself up again. She quits the crying, starts begging instead.

"Please... I need it..." Her voice is hoarse from her earlier screaming fit. She still clings to me tightly, but she pulls back so she can look me in the eye. I feel her shaking, unsteady, and against my better judgement, I grab hold of her hips. Try to keep her on her feet. "Give it to me... God, just give it to me!"

"The hell you think you're doin', Mathews?" The shout is laced with such anger it makes my blood run cold. Colder still when I recognize the voice, see its owner enter my line of sight. Dallas Winston.

"Didn't know that was any of your business, Winston," I say, still holding Joanna. The second the words are out of my mouth, I wish I hadn't said them. In a feeble attempt to distract him, I change the subject. "So... I heard you'd skipped town 'bout twenty years ago. What're ya doin' here?"

His eyes spark dangerously as he watches me, takes in every detail. When he finishes and starts up talking, his voice is nearly a growl. "Had some things I had to do back here. Then I thought I'd say happy birthday to your daughter. Didn't expect to find ya with your hands all over mine."

Joanna is... I jump away from her, though she tries to prevent our separation. But I force it, don't got a choice cause I see murder in his eyes. And it all makes sense - the feeling that I'd seen Joanna's expressions on someone else. I _had_ seen them before. On Dallas. I must be even dumber than I'd thought. How had I missed the similarities?

Yet, amidst the terror, I feel a strange sense of relief. Thank God, she isn't Darry's kid. If he'd found out I was sneaking her into my house late at night and letting her drink my beer, he would've killed me. But Dally... He doesn't care about illegal drinking. There's a whole new problem, though. And I might even think it's better than having to deal with Darry. Not too sure yet cause Dal's pissed - really pissed - and he's usually unreasonable.

"Take it easy," I say, holding up my hands like he's a cop trying to arrest me. "I ain't doin' nothin' to her."

"I should beat the shit outta you," he snarls, spitting on my floor just to spite me. Not too much has changed since he's been gone, I guess. I open my mouth to reply, but he cuts me off with a barked order to Joanna. "Go outside. Fuckin'... You listenin'? Go!"

She pouts at him a bit. "Daddy..."

Deep breaths to calm down. When he's sure he can speak without screaming, he tells her that he's serious and other parental type things. Weird... When I think of a father, I never picture Dallas Winston. Can't even see him as an abusive asshole. He just ain't the type to have kids. But here he is, scolding his daughter. Real weird...

His attention turns back to me when Joanna's gone. Blue eyes burn into my face for too long. I swear I'm on fire by the time he looks away. That enraged stare returns full-force after his small break and he shoves me against the wall, hands at my throat, squeezing the life out of me.

"You touch my daughter again and I'll fuck you up," he says through gritted teeth. Then his hands release me and I'm gasping for breath so hard, I almost miss the next sentences. But, from the sudden drop in his volume, I don't think I'm supposed to hear. "It's not good for her. She can't take any more..."


	8. Chapter 8

**Reviews:**

 **Amanda - Thank you so much! I'm glad to hear you're enjoying reading these. And I personally thought it would be cool to do another chapter with Two-Bit, so that's where the fun birthday thing came from. Just in case you were wondering. :p**

 **Sammy - Yeah, I wanted a way to include Two-Bit in the overall plot and I thought some sort of unethical/awkward relationship with Joanna was the best option. Thanks for your continued support!**

 **Zarak - Yay, thanks!**

 **Fiction by Jen - Awesome, I'm glad the additional chapter worked for you. I wanted something a little happier after Renee's death and then the idea of the birthday party popped into my head. As for Joanna... We'll see where that goes. If I'm being honest, though, that was my favorite scene in that chapter.**

 **GladerTributeCamper - Wait... What do you mean by "what happened"? Are you asking why it's Dally's fault?**

 **FrankElza - Glad you liked the party! I wanted them all to have a little fun. They deserve it, you know? :)**

 _ **AN - Alright, well, I have to give this chapter its proper warning labels so that you won't get mad at me. There is crude language, heavily implied sex/non-explicit sex scenes and child molestation. If any of you are offended by these topics, do not read this chapter. The next chapter will return to the usual level of T-rated content. Thanks and enjoy!**_

Chapter 8: Steve

I'd never felt like there was something I couldn't tell Soda about. We were best friends, close as brothers, goddammit. And if he'd kept the same secret from me, I might've actually killed him. Well, alright, I wouldn't ever harm him. No matter what. I'd be real hurt, though... Probably take it out on Ponyboy.

The secret itself wasn't so bad. Pretty innocent, in my opinion. Yet, I couldn't find the strength to tell the one person in this whole fucking mess that mattered to me. And that was the problem. We were supposed to share everything - drinks, cars, clothes, even secrets. At some point, I remember it being hard to look at him cause I felt too guilty about lying. Maybe a little of that guilt extended to how I'd treated the kid, as well. Hurting him hurt Soda...

Truth was, I just didn't know how to say it. How did anyone manage to admit to a friend that they were still having 'sleep overs' with Bonnie Jane Anderson? The first time, you get high-fives and pats on the back. Any more than once and they're telling you to move on already.

I screwed her once, loved the rush of it, couldn't keep myself away. She taunted me each time I crawled back to her. Everybody knew she was the biggest slut in Tulsa, no better than a real whore. Even worse, actually, cause she'd spread her legs for anyone and they didn't have to pay her for it. And she always teased me at first, saying that I must've been desperate if I had to fuck her. That was all forgotten afterwards, though. She'd beg me to stay, come back, give her more. I was happy to do just that.

Sometimes, I still saw Evie, too. And I guess that was one of the reasons why I couldn't tell Soda. He knew about my nights with my ex-girlfriend. But he didn't know that, whenever I wasn't inside Evie, I was inside Bonnie. Not like I was ashamed of it or nothing. I just didn't want to tell my best friend that I might've been cheating on a decent girl with the easiest broad in Oklahoma.

He would've been disappointed...

Bonnie slowed her pace, panting as she leaned down to whisper in my ear. "Who're ya thinkin' about?"

I groaned a bit as she stopped completely. She waited for an answer, which I gave promptly, desperate to get her moving again. "Nobody but you." My grip on her hips tightened and I knew I was gonna leave bruises, but I didn't care. I tried forcing myself up into her, anything to feel that amazingly hot friction build up between us.

"Naughty boy," she moaned then resumed thrusting down on me. I watched her breasts bounce, her head tilt back and eyes squeeze shut, the sweat glistening on her naked skin. My thoughts were long gone, along with any guilt I may have been feeling.

Concentration slipping, giving in. My eyes slid shut, though I was reluctant to lose my view of her body. But it felt too good, so fucking good, that I couldn't keep them open. We reached our limits, stayed together until the pleasure fizzled out. Then I left. I couldn't cuddle with her, didn't want to. Cause the longer we lay together, the more intense my feelings for her became. Maybe that was another reason why I couldn't tell Soda.

He didn't believe that love came _after_ sex...

Bonnie, though. She didn't care about feelings or any of that shit. She liked to sleep around, have fun. If any emotion got involved, it scared her away. Lots of guys had been there before - being with her and feeling good and loving it all, but her especially. Then she wouldn't go with them again. And they'd just move on to the next pretty little thing. Repeat. Cause girls like that don't ever settle down. Girls like that are sluts for life.

Guess I'm trying to say that I was pretty dumb for thinking anything of it - my time with Bonnie. Don't go telling Pony or nothing cause he don't gotta know that he's right. He always tried to show Soda how much of a dumbass I was... But I play the part real good. No one could ever figure me out, not really.

Anyway, things started getting weird between me and Bonnie. She stopped asking me to come over after school. I thought she was just busy with some other guy and, breaking every relationship rule I'd ever tried to follow, I burned with jealousy. Why was I so fucking stupid?

So I asked around. Her usual haunts - the greasers I knew she'd never stop going to. But she hadn't been with them either. Somebody new, then. And it drove me crazy. I'd see her around every couple days, but she acted like she didn't know me. It got me feeling like shit all day at work. Then I'd go home and just take everything my old man gave. Bruises mostly. A broken nose once. The worst of his abuse, though... I still shudder when I think about it. Soda would understand. But I can't tell him.

He'd look at me strange.

I know he wouldn't, yet I think he would. And maybe that's cause my mom had. I told her a long time ago, probably been thirty years now - I don't know. She looked at me in this way I'd never seen before. Like I was hurting her or disgusting her or both at the same time. I remember her fighting him, screaming, crying. That night, she packed her things up, hopped on a train. I never saw her again. I think I'm worried that Soda will do the same.

But Bonnie hadn't left. Not at first. Can't explain why I told her, it just slipped out without me wanting it to. She hugged me, kissed my lips tenderly, told me I was safe in her arms. I trusted her almost as much as I trusted Soda. Except, I barely knew her.

And it was wrong. So fucking messed up. But I couldn't tell anyone about loving her or hating my father. Especially not Soda. I always listened to him, though. When his folks were killed, I never left his side. I let him cry on my shoulder whenever he needed. He could tell me anything. I wonder if he'd hate me if he knew all this. Ain't friends supposed to not keep secrets? Have I failed him?

He still asks if I'm okay.

I still tell him I am.

Sorry, I get distracted sometimes. It's hard to stay focused on these things. So... Well, Bonnie wasn't putting out anymore and I got lonely without her. Other than Evie, I didn't have one girl I kept on sleeping with. I changed broads more often than I changed my clothes. At some point, I was going through three girls a day.

Then I married one of them at random. It was 1968-ish. I hadn't fucked Bonnie since the summer of '67. But she was the only woman I could think of. At least I got Evie to leave me alone. I loved her once, thought I wanted to be with her forever. Then something changed. Maybe it was all the fighting. Angry make up sex doesn't keep you happy. And, after a while, that was the only sex we were capable of having.

Me and my wife had been married for three months when Bonnie showed up on my doorstep again. She smiled sweetly, forced her way into my house, acting like she owned the place. Gave herself a tour, too, while I followed dumbly behind. The bedroom was saved for last and I had to supress that eerily familiar rush of excitement. I couldn't hide. She knew I wanted her, wanted to get back to our usual routine - meet up, fuck, part ways.

Except, this time was different. She didn't leave. We collapsed onto the bed I shared with my wife, panting and basking in the afterglow of a satisfying end, and we didn't move. Not even when Mrs. Steve Randle came home to an empty living room, but a full bed. She wasn't even surprised, didn't have the decency to pretend either. Not that I was worth the effort, anyway.

"We'll talk about the divorce in the morning," she said then exited the bedroom, leaving me alone with my lover.

I remember the shame I'd felt as I admitted to Soda that my marriage was over. He tried to comfort me, put his arm around my shoulders, but I wouldn't let him. How could I? My marriage was over cause I'd cheated. I didn't deserve his sympathy.

And I was happier, anyway. At least, I was for the moment. Bonnie had come back to me. There shouldn't have been anything that brought me down right then. But when he asked me to tell him what happened, my heart sank. The shame increased.

"Bonnie Anderson?" His eyes went wide as disbelief took over his features. "You cheated on your wife with Bonnie Anderson?"

Couldn't think of anything to say, so I just stood there, staring at the floor. I bet I looked dumb as hell. But there really wasn't anything in my head. No clever retorts, no biting comment. So I guess 'dumb as hell' was an accurate description of me. Smart guys didn't ruin marriages and friendships. Smart guys didn't try to lie their way through the rough bits.

"Why are you staying with her?" I knew he didn't mean it harshly. In fact, his voice sounded much softer than it had before. But I couldn't stop myself from getting defensive.

"Cause I got a kid with her. Rebecca."

Soda choked on the air he'd been trying to breathe and was slow to recover his cool. I didn't blame him. I hadn't taken the news very well myself. But I'm pretty sure I was happier than him for the main reason that I'd gotten laid before the bomb dropped and he hadn't. I kept on watching him, worried. Cause his face was all red and he wasn't saying nothing. I was afraid that he hated me - for lying, for being a father so soon, for being a dumbass.

Then he laughed a bit, not even the slightest bit uncomfortable. "So, when do I get to meet my honorary niece?"

And things ended up going great for us. I married Bonnie the following year. I got a real job. I took on the responsibilities of a father. Hopefully, I've been better than my own old man, though I doubt that anyone could be worse...

Rebecca is sixteen now and she's just like any other greaser. I don't think that's what they call it these days, but she really is one of us. An outsider. She has friends at least. She never has to be alone cause I'm here and so is Bonnie and Joanna and Lauren. Even Albany sometimes, when he's not in jail. Actually, she's pretty close to all of Darry's kids, now that I think about it.

We're closer, though. She tells me almost everything. Friend drama, gang fights - I don't even have to ask. If she's got something on her mind, I'm the first to know. Then we talk. And it comes so easily. As if we're friends rather than father and daughter. I'm foolish enough to feel envy towards what we have. I wish I could've talked to my father like she talks to me. I have to tell myself to be happy sometimes...

"Dad," Rebecca says, sitting next to me on the sofa, "we gotta talk." She looks at me expectantly then runs a hand through her dyed-black hair

"Did something happen?" I ask, instinctively getting ready to pull out my switchblade. But my pocket is empty and I remember that I gave the weapon to her last year. I'd wanted her to be able to protect herself when she went around in the city at night.

She notices my worry, places her hand on my arm in an attempt to soothe me. Now she hesitates and she couldn't have been more obvious if she shouted it. Her eyes dart around the room, she wrings her hands. Nervous. But I can't guess why and that kills me. I want to speak up, tell her it's okay to be afraid, but she beats me to it, answers my question with her own.

"Are you friends with Mr. Mathews?"

I frown, give a small shake of my head. No, not anymore. I haven't spoken to him in years. We had a bit of a falling-out a couple years back, but I don't like to talk about it. Losing such a close friend is always too painful to remember...

"He's the redheaded guy down the street. 'Bout the same age as you. He's got that daughter who turned ten a couple months ago. Remember? We were invited to go to the party," she says but I just keep shaking my head. "Well, you'd recognize him if you saw him. Anyway... Well... A friend of mine has kinda been screwin' him and now she thinks she's pregnant. What should she do?"

I know how teenagers work. They use 'my friend' to mean themselves. Don't they? I look my daughter over, trying to see if she's showing. But her stomach is still flat. God damn, though... Rebecca and Two-Bit. Together. Two-Bit - my friend - fucking my underage daughter... I feel nauseous.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I can't keep that demanding tone from slipping in to my voice. "We're supposed to be honest with each other. Oh, never mind. You have to get rid of it. You aren't ready. I wasn't ready for you!"

"I'm not... God, Dad, it's Joanna, not me!" she cries out, standing up abruptly. Then she gets this expression in her eyes as she realizes what I said. Betrayal and sadness and loneliness all mix into one look. She runs to her room.

I can't think of anything to say that will make it all better, so I just let her go. I sigh, bury my face in my hands. Soda is a much better father than me. Bet he's even more disappointed now... I've never done a single thing right in my life. I cheated on Evie, I cheated on my ex-wife. I let my father... Hell, I might've even liked it when my father...

It's too much. I know that if I wasn't already sitting, I'd be on the ground. Cause I can't feel my legs and all I want to do is cry, but I'll probably fuck that up too. Can't cry, anyway. What if someone sees that shit? Everyone thinks I'm tough like Dal. I gotta keep up appearances or else I'm vulnerable. As vulnerable as I felt when I was just a kid. When my father would force me out of my clothes, tear off his own. I can still hear my feeble cries as he hovered over my naked body, spreading my legs and placing himself between them.

The violent rasp of his zipper echoes in my mind, reality and nightmares blurring into one. He's finished with me for now. But he'll want more tomorrow night.

"Steve, you okay?" It's Soda's voice, flooding my ears, drowning out the memories. I feel like I'm waking up when I look at him as he kneels in front of me

"Yeah, I... It's just a little fight." I find my legs and get off the couch, still feeling off balance. Go to the kitchen, grab a beer, drink. There isn't anything else that can make me feel better so I just keep drinking till Soda intervenes.

He tells me to take it easy. I put down the bottle even though all I want to do is get blackout drunk. Forget the past. Forget the present. There is nothing that matters when you're completely wasted. I want that sense of unawareness to consume me, let me live in peace. But Soda won't allow it. I hear him say that Rebecca will be fine. I hear the question before it leaves his lips.

"What's _really_ botherin' you?"

"I... There's somethin' I've gotta tell ya..." I mumble then I lean forward, quite a bit too close to his ear for anyone's comfort. My breath tickles his sensitive earlobe and he shivers lightly. "It's about my old man..."

 _ **AN - So, this was my first time writing Steve and I thought it turned out okay. I wanted to portray him as a loyal friend, but a considerably less loyal lover. And then I also wanted to show off the insecure and constantly questioning and self-loathing side of him that is found in most children that were abused when they were younger. I'd really appreciate it if you would tell me what you thought about my take on his character. Thanks again!**_


	9. Chapter 9

**Reviews:**

 **Sammy - Well, being the annoying person that I am, I won't give you any direct answers about Joanna's possible pregnancy (I want you to read and find out, of course! :p). But I will answer your other question. Truthfully, I didn't know how to put Dally in since he's already been reunited with his kids. And I thought the chapter flowed better without trying to squeeze him in there, anyway.**

 **Amanda - Aw, thank you! I'd never written Steve before so I was really worried that I'd screwed up and didn't accurately portray his character. Glad to know you think I did a good job. :)**

 **Fiction by Jen - Thank you for the encouragement. I was sort of hesitant to make the chapter so intense with the part about Steve's father. I worried that that would cross a line. But I'm glad it didn't upset you (at least, it doesn't seem like you're upset). Also really glad that my characterization of Steve worked for you. It's kinda terrifying to try to write a character that you haven't experimented with before.**

 **Moniquian Rose - I could potentially do a chapter with Randy if I could figure out a way to connect it to the central plot with Dally and his kids. If you have any suggestions, please let me know! Anyway, thank you so much for reading. Please enjoy this next chapter!**

 **GladerTributeCamper - Haha, no need to apologize for my misunderstanding. So to answer what I think you're asking (and I'm sorry if I misunderstood again): after Renee died, Joanna was really hurt by it so she started drinking to cope. Two-Bit just supplied her with the alcohol because he felt bad for her. Hope that answered your question from forever ago! Sorry if it didn't. And I'm so happy that you're enjoying the story! It's been really fun to write it.**

 _ **AN - And yes, I'm aware that I have other stories to write (for those of you who are following those fics, as well). I just had some inspiration for this one. I'll update the others as soon as I can. Thanks for being patient! :)**_

Chapter 9: Ponyboy

For a long time, I was happy with just being an uncle. Sure, I was an uncle at a pretty young age - fourteen when Darry brought home the triplets - but that didn't mean I couldn't love those kids just as much as Soda did. I promise that I really _have_ always loved them, even when I found out we weren't actually related. Though, I should've known in the first place. Darry would never have a one-night-stand, like he told us he did. He just hasn't ever been that kind of guy.

Anyways, it was fun having nieces and nephews cause there were all the joys of playing around, but none of the parental responsibilities. It was better that way. I still had school to study for, you know, especially when I made it to college. Admittedly, I was already pretty distracted when I went to university. See, I kinda ended up meeting my future wife during my freshman year.

I say 'kinda' because I didn't work up the nerve to talk to her until I was a sophomore. Might have admired her from afar just a little bit... Not like a stalker. Well, I hope she didn't think I was a stalker cause I only really watched her during the classes we had together.

So it was 1970 and I was a sophomore in college when I really got to know Linda Baker. We actually became friends in our creative writing class. I was taking it for fun. She wanted to be a novelist for the rest of her life. Our relationship started out as a professional one cause we would edit each other's short stories. Then, one day, I guess I was just feeling bold, so I asked her out for sodas. We started officially dating shortly after that.

We'd been together for about three months when things got serious between us. Not serious enough that we were having sex - although, I guess that at our age, the decision to wait meant more than the decision to hook up. We were definitely going steady, though. And sometimes, we would imagine our possible futures together. None of those daydreams included children. At least, not until after we'd graduated.

In late 1973, Linda and I were having lunch with Soda and Susan. They were expecting another child - their first one together - and that was all they could talk about the entire time. Linda's eyes almost glowed as she listened. At lulls in the conversation, her eyes would stray to Susan's swollen belly.

Then our lunch was finished and my brother took off with his pregnant wife, leaving me alone with my girlfriend of four years. She turned to me when she was sure that they were gone.

"Pony?" Her voice was soft as if she was ashamed of what she was saying. "Take... Take me back to the apartment. I want to have a baby..."

By the time I'd managed to get her pregnant, it was halfway through 1974. Susan had already given birth to a beautiful little boy named Ben and Linda was more excited than ever to have one of her own. We'd already picked out names, too: Paul if it was a boy and Amber if it was a girl.

Everything was going great for us until the birth actually happened. Susan was visiting us without Sodapop. I don't know why, but he was watching the triplets and Darry said the triplets and the twins had to be split up when he wasn't around. So I had Wes and Theo with me. Soda stayed home with Al and Jo. But Susan had brought Renee with her so I hoped Darry didn't mind. I watched the boys play with their toy cars in the living room, listened to the women chat about babies in the kitchen. Renee sat beside me, silent as ever.

"Why aren't you with your siblings?" I asked, turning my full attention on her.

"They're fightin' again..."

I wrapped my arm around her thin shoulders. "Hey, cheer up, kiddo! All brothers and sisters fight. Me and your daddy used to argue all the time. He even hit me once. But we're real close now. So don't worry, alright?"

"I'll try..." She lowered her gaze to the floor and scooted away from me.

I was about to say more when I heard my girlfriend cry out. In less then a second, I was on my feet, by her side, helping her into the back seat of the car. Susan tried to tell me it was a false alarm as I started up the engine. Thank God, I didn't listen.

On the ride to the hospital, she kept rambling on, explaining that she'd been having contractions since yesterday. She hadn't said anything, she hadn't wanted to worry me. I told her to relax, but it was hard to follow my own advice. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly, my knuckles strained white. I tried narrowing my focus, concentrate on the road, but I couldn't. Not with my girlfriend whimpering in the back seat.

It got worse when she started crying. She begged me to pull over. I told her that we had to keep going until we got to the hospital. Told her to wait, hold on. Barely heard her reply, "I can't..."

By the time I pulled into the parking lot, I was a father. I parked the car, stepped outside. But I was too worried to leave Linda alone so I flagged down a recently released patient. She bolted back into the hospital and, soon after, we were swarmed by doctors and nurses. The rest was kind of a blur. I remember signing the birth certificate of my newborn daughter. Everything else is foggy. I must've called Darry, though, cause I'm pretty sure he drove me and my family back to the apartment. I certainly wasn't in any state to operate a car.

Then I was just holding this kid in my arms, at home. And all my family was there - Linda, Soda and Susan, Darry and Marley, and all the nieces and nephews. I barely knew what was going on. They congratulated my girlfriend, told her how beautiful our little Amber was. Then it got real quiet. Like they were expecting something.

Darry put his hand on my shoulder. "You did good, Pone, keepin' your head on right for this. I'm proud of you."

"Yeah," Soda agreed, nodding cheerfully. "I bet I woulda crashed if it'd been me drivin'. Good thing Susie had our baby in the hospital!"

"Thanks." My throat was dry and my voice cracked a bit. I didn't rise to get myself water, though. I just sat on the couch, staring at my baby girl. She really was beautiful. And tiny. And delicate. My mind almost panicked as it tried to tell me that I wasn't ready, that I was gonna be too rough with her, hurt her. But I couldn't put her down. Wasn't she safer with me?

Two years later, there was another baby - a boy named Paul. Thankfully, this one wasn't born in the back seat of my car. No, this one was born in the relative safety of our bedroom with paramedics standing by. Poor Linda really didn't have good timing. She always thought she could go a little longer before she had to go to the hospital. She couldn't. Not that I really cared. Sure, it was a mess. But, honestly, I was more concerned that my girlfriend and my baby were okay.

And they were. Paul was extremely healthy when he was born. I can't even begin to describe how grateful I was that there wasn't anything wrong with his health. Cause sometimes I'd read about kids who were real sick and I'd worry about my own little ones.

Anyway, I married Linda a few months after Paul was born. We figured it would be better to wait until we knew that he'd behave during the wedding ceremony. Surprisingly, he didn't even make a sound. His sister, on the other hand, fidgeted her way through the entire reception.

Six years later and it's still the same deal. Amber can't sit in one place for longer than a second. She likes to explore and dance and do just about anything as long as she isn't confined to one place. It's kinda cute, actually, cause she collects mementos from all the places she's been. A snail shell from the park, a cap eraser from her classroom, a button she'd found in the road. All these things have found a home in her bedroom.

Paul's a lot like her, just quieter, more dependent on Linda and me. He collects things too - shiny things. Glass shards, sparkly fabric, jewelry. He's pretty much a crow. Linda used to leave her wedding ring on the night table when we went to bed. That all changed after she'd forgotten to put it back on in the morning and Paul had taken it for his collection. Thankfully, Amber saw it and made him give it back.

So it's just a regular Saturday afternoon. I'm sitting on the couch with Paul, waiting for Amber to come home. Last night, I'd let her sleep over at Two-Bit's house. She and Amelia are real close friends - it's nice having them spend time together. It gives me and Two-Bit an excuse to just hang out and catch up, too.

The doorbell rings. I get to my feet and answer. Two-Bit stands on the front step with Amber and Amelia. Amber doesn't look too good. She isn't smiling, she's barely making eye contact.

"Bye, Amber." Amelia gives my daughter a quick hug then trots back to Two-Bit's beat-up car, glancing back at me as she goes. "Hi, Mr. Curtis..."

I smile, wave a little bit. Then my attention returns to Amber. "Hey, sweetheart. You gonna thank Mr. Mathews for lettin' ya stay over?"

"Thank you..." She pushes past me, rushes into the house. I hear her door slam shut and I can't keep myself from giving my friend a strange look. Not that I'm accusing him of anything. I just wonder why he wouldn't call me to say that she hadn't been feeling well.

"Glory, Pony, your daughter sure is weird," he says, casually shoving his hands in his jeans pockets and leaning on the doorframe. "She was all cheery yesterday, askin' how I been doin' and stuff. Then this mornin'? Nothin'. She wouldn't even look at me."

"I'll talk to her," I reply. My eyes shift back to the side of the road where Amelia is already sitting in Two-Bit's car, seatbelt fastened. "You best get goin'. I think she's waitin' on you."

He looks confused. Then he turns and sees his daughter. "Oh, yeah. Well, be seein' ya, Pony." Gives me one last smile before he hops into the car and drives off.

When they're out of sight, I go back inside, closing the door behind me. I immediately go to Amber's room and knock until she tells me it's not locked. Honestly, I don't know what to expect. My heart is racing. So I enter slowly. And she's sitting on her bed, looking down at the Barbie and Ken dolls that she holds in her hands. I take a seat next to her. For a while, I'm silent. I want Amber to talk first, but she doesn't.

"What's botherin' you?" I ask, hoping for an answer. I hope in vain.

She only gives me a glance before her attention falls back on her dolls. "Barbie looks like JoJo, don't she?"

I nod a bit, still not sure what's going on. Joanna sometimes baby-sits for me - she really loves kids. And it's been this way since Ben came along. She used to watch him for Soda back when both Soda and Susan were working. But she hasn't been here in quite some time. Maybe Amber misses her?

"Why do ya say that?" I manage to ask.

"Dunno... Just saw her last night, is all..." She's mumbling, but before I can say anything, she looks up at me again. "Daddy, can I ask you somethin'?" When I nod, she continues. "Well... JoJo was at Amelia's house and I don't think I'm s'posed to know 'bout it cause Amelia didn't see her - I asked. Anyway, it was real late and these noises woke me up so I went to go see what they were."

I'm starting to sense where this is going. I don't like it, don't like it at all. I hope I'm wrong.

"The noises were from Mr. Mathews's room and the door was open a bit... I just took a peek, Daddy, I didn't mean to spy on 'em or nothin'. He was on her...l-like this..." She positions the Ken doll on top of Barbie, moving one of her legs up a bit so the other doll could fit between them. "But, without the clothes. What were they doing?"

Jesus Christ. I don't know what else to think, what else to say. My eyes are wide. I feel them, but I can't correct the expression. The shock is too much. Somehow, I manage to collect my thoughts enough to tell her not to play with her dolls like that. She doesn't blush, she doesn't look ashamed. Instead, her eyes are wide like mine and tears rush to fill them.

"Was he hurting her?"

"No, sweetie, of course not," I say, standing up and trying to put some space between us. I have to get away. That's the only thought in my head right now. I'm not ready to explain this to her. She's not ready to hear it! But I can't think of a way out. "Stay here, okay? I'll tell you after I do somethin' real quick."

"Okay..."

I almost run out of her room. Before my mind even registers what's happening, I have the phone in my hand. And the dial tone is droning in my ear until I hear my brother's gruff voice on the other end.

"H-hey, Dare," I reply, trying to sound cheerful for him. He sees - or hears? - right through the charade, tells me to just be honest, stop beating around the bush. So I ask, "When did you have the Talk with Wes and Theo?"

He laughs, a bit uncomfortably though. "Well, I sat Theo down when he was ten. Just in case cause we all know how he is. But Wes never asked. Figured Theo told him at some point. Or maybe one of those health classes. More importantly, why're ya askin'?"

So I relay the story, everything Amber told me. Except Joanna. I can't tell Darry that it's her, ya know. It'd hurt him, probably piss him off, too. And the last thing I want is for Darry to go picking fights with Two-Bit over this. It ain't like what they're doing is illegal - Joanna's eighteen. Doesn't mean it's okay, having sex with our buddy's daughter... But it's really none of my business.

Anyway, Darry calms me down a little, talks me through the details. It's one of the few parenting moments that makes everybody wish they'd never had kids. But it's necessary. He tells me it's no big deal. I just have to explain it in the most innocent way possible. The scientific way. I take a deep breath, thank him, hang up.

Then I return to Amber's room. She's still sitting on her bed, tears streaming down her cheeks. When she sees me, she wipes them away.

"Daddy... are you sure he wasn't hurting her?"

Her voice is so delicate, I nearly cringe. On the phone, it had sounded easy, but now that I'm looking at her, my tongue isn't cooperating. This shouldn't be so hard, it really shouldn't be. Yet, it is. I brace myself, decide to take one step at a time. Answer the question.

"Yeah, I'm sure," I say, refraining from mentioning that such activities actually make both of the people involved feel really good. Stop thinking about that. "Hey, remember when Mommy's belly was all big and round and then you got a baby brother?"

"Kinda..."

"Well, her and I had to do what Mr. Mathews and Joanna were doing in order to have Paul." I hope the answer is good enough for her. Of course, it's not.

She frowns, setting her dolls to the side, silently asking me for more details. I'm reluctant to give them, but I don't think I have much of a choice. I sigh and pace the width of the room for a few laps then settle down again.

"Okay, umm... When a man and woman love each other a lot, they have sex. And what that is... well..."

She stops me before I can say anything. "It's alright, Daddy. I'll ask Mommy when she gets home." She smiles at me then hops off her bed, leaving the room.

For a brief moment, I'm relieved. I don't have to explain exactly how sex works to my eight year old. Then I realize that she's gonna ask Linda instead, which means I'm in trouble. She'll be mad at me cause I brought up the topic too soon. Even though Amber asked. And maybe she'll be mad at Two-Bit as well. No, wait... She'll definitely want to murder him for putting his hands on Joanna. More than his hands. Not just _on_ her. My stomach flips at the thought. Joanna is pretty much a part of the family. What is he thinking?

Before I can comprehend what I'm doing, I have the phone in my hand again. My own self-pity forgotten. Now, I'm thinking of other things. Cause I know I have to reveal the secret. Except, it isn't a secret, is it? Amber willingly told me all about it.

"Yeah?"

I unconsciously heave a sigh of relief when I hear his annoyed voice. Annoyed... For a second, I wonder if I'd just interrupted him while he was in the middle of some sexual act, but then I realize that he'd never have answered if he'd been busy with a woman. So I start talking.

"Dal... This isn't easy to say, but..." I begin. "Well, I was having a conversation with my daughter just now and she told me something interesting. About Joanna. I-it's kind of a funny story, actually, cause Amber started asking all these awkward questions. And apparently - according to my eight year old daughter - Joanna's been having sex with Two-Bit. See...? It's...funny..."

Dally doesn't say anything, doesn't make a sound. He just hangs up the phone and I get this feeling that I might've made a mistake. I probably shouldn't have told him...


	10. Chapter 10

**Reviews:**

 **Moniquian Rose - Nah, Amber should be fine. She was more concerned that Two-Bit was hurting Joanna so she was relieved to find out that he wasn't.**

 **Sammy - Yeah, Dally's gonna kill him. xD Glad you enjoyed the chapter, by the way!**

 **Fiction by Jen - Thanks! The last chapter was definitely meant to be more light-hearted and sweet with all the family bonding stuff. I hope you like this chapter as well. :)**

 **Amanda - Aw, I'm glad you liked them. Thanks for your help! And look at that: I updated this one really quickly!**

 **GladerTributeCamper - Haha, no awkwardness here! Anyway, I am so happy to hear you say that you like how everyone is connected. It's something I'm really proud of so I'm pleased that you enjoy reading this story.**

 _ **AN - Well, I wasn't planning on updating this so soon. But then I realized that it's Father's Day here in the States and that it's the perfect opportunity to write another chapter for this story. Please enjoy! :D**_

Chapter 10: Dally 2

It's just me, sitting alone in the living room, beer in one hand and a blade in the other. I stare at the switch, turn it over and over, watch it glint in the dim light filtering in through the closed blinds. The room is mostly dark. Except for the tv screen which plays out its usual drama: static. I sigh in frustration, throw the blade down to the dirty carpet. The crackling of the tv is enough to drive anyone mad. I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't really know where 'here' is.

Another gulp of beer. One ain't doing it for me anymore - or maybe it's been four or five now. I chug the remainder of the dark colored liquid, rise, stagger to get more. The fridge light almost blinds me as I yank the door open. My fingers close around the glass neck of a bottle then I retreat to my place on the couch, which is worn through in spots and horribly stained in others. There are vague thoughts in my head. Am I home? Where's my old man?

The bottle slips from my fingers, only half finished, and spills its contents over the carpet under my feet. I groan, though I'm not sure if I'm angry or just disappointed. I light up a cigarette, press it between my lips. Breathe. Smoke fills my lungs. I hold it in a moment. Exhale. Let the smoke escape.

I'm mostly through with the first cigarette, ready to light up a second, when the door opens. Sunlight floods the entryway and I squint against it, trying to catch a glimpse of whoever is disturbing my alone time. It's definitely a woman's body cause I can see the curvy outline as she stands in the open doorway. She strides in like she belongs here and I'm just about to say something until the door slams shut. It's dark again. I see her clearly now.

Joanna's got this disappointed look on her face, shaking her head at the mess. As she gets close, I see a box cradled in her arms. She holds it out to me, does her best to smile like she means it.

"Happy Father's Day!" she says and she stares me down until I take the present from her. "Well? Ain't you gonna open it?"

My gaze drops to the box - simple cardboard, taped shut. I peel off the duct tape, push the flaps back, and reach in. When my hand connects with something solid, I grip it and pull it out to examine the gift. A pair of brass knuckles. They're plain metal, silver in color, and they've got a nice weight to them. The only decoration is a small engraving that I can only feel cause of the dark. Not bad, but I resist the temptation to slip them on.

"Why d'ya get me this?" I ask, my voice cold.

My daughter's face falls. "You don't like them..." She looks down at her feet for a moment then forces herself to return her gaze to mine. "Well, that's okay. Maybe you'll like my present better."

I shake my head a bit. "I like 'em just fine. But why are ya givin' 'em to me? Ain't Father's Day s'posed to be for good dads?"

"Ya might not've been around when we were kids, but least ya came back," she says, sitting down beside me. "And ya had to try so hard to find us again, but didn't give up. Don't that mean you love us? So I guess we just want you to know that we love you, too. Is... Is that okay?"

"We?"

"Yeah." She nods. "Albany and me. He got the brass knuckles for ya. Well, I had to get 'em cause he's in prison, but it was his money. And his idea."

I leave it at that. I don't need to know - don't want to know - why my son suddenly loves me. After all the time he spent hating me, I'm sure the answer ain't good. So I'd rather not think about it. I'll just fool myself for a second. I need this day more than I ever could've imagined. I need this day to pretend I was better than my own father.

Normally, I don't sugarcoat anything. I like the truth. I ain't scared of reality. Whenever Johnny used to get all caught up in dreams it was always me who pulled him back. I had to. No one else was gonna do it. But now, I think I deserve a day to lose touch with the cold facts of life. Maybe it's okay...

So I let Joanna pull me up, drag me into the bathroom. She makes me wash up and stands guard until I obey her commands. When she says I look "presentable", she grabs my wrist and leads me to her car. We drive for a while then she parks the car in front of a little restaurant.

"Hope you're hungry," Joanna says, just about pushing me through the doors. Then she turns her attention to the hostess. "Table for two, please."

We're ushered deep into the place then set at a raised table by the window. I stare out, already mapping my escape route. It's a force of habit by now. I really can't help myself. You don't grow up in New York City without learning to get away. If you can't fight, you gotta run. And I just have a bad feeling about whatever's going on.

The waitress hands us the menus, her gaze lingering on me as she introduces herself. I let my eyes wander over her body. It's been a while since the last time I had sex. At least three months. I could really use some fun... And she ain't bad looking, but she seems too young.

Once she's gone, I see Joanna glaring at me. I shrug then pick up the menu, read it over. My eyes catch on the prices then, unable to control my expression, widen for a moment.

"How're ya payin' for this shit?" I demand, dropping the menu down onto the table. "It ain't exactly cheap. You got a fuckin' sugar daddy, don't you."

I already know about Two-Bit, but I won't let her find that out. That way, when I beat his ass, she won't immediately connect me to the crime. I'll use the brass knuckles Albany got me. Fuck up my friend's face real good with those. It don't matter that he's my buddy. Sometimes you just gotta teach him a lesson. I warned him to keep his hands off my daughter...

"Course not. Rebecca's helpin' me out," she replies, glancing at me from over the top of her menu.

I can tell she's lying. Don't got a clue how, I just know. But I nod instead of saying anything. Let her think I haven't figured out what she's been up to. If Two-Bit wants to waste his money on her, that's fine by me. But he can't use her as a sex toy. It ain't right when it's a girl I kinda care about... I'm sure he'd be just as pissed if I fucked his sister - which is becoming a more appealing idea each time I think of it. I need sex and I need a revenge plan. Why not satisfy both hungers with one act?

Barely an hour later and we finish eating. Joanna pays for the meal, we drive home in silence. Complete silence except for the radio and her half-hearted attempts at conversation. We get back to my place, go inside. She settles down on the couch while I grab a beer from the fridge. Then I join her in the living room, standing in front of her, refusing to sit.

She watches me for too long, lets her gaze drop. Within moments, her eyes lock with mine once more. Her mouth opens then closes again. There's something she wants to say, but I don't ask, don't really care if she tells me. Cause I'll find out either way.

"Dad, can I talk to you for a second?" She doesn't even wait for a response of any kind. Almost as soon as the question is out of her mouth, she launches into her story. "It's about Mr. Mathews... He... Well, I... We've been sleeping together for a little while. And I didn't wanna tell you cause I knew you'd be mad, but I can't keep it from you anymore. I'm... pregnant. And the baby is his. I-I haven't been with anyone else! I know it's his!"

Pony hadn't told me that. The shock hits me pretty hard, like a bus or some shit like that. I can't speak, but now I'm looking at her. Tears roll down her cheeks and her eyes seem far away. I notice how they linger on the beer bottle in my hand. Deeply buried desire surfacing from the confinement of ice blue irises. I gulp down the last of the bottle's contents. She's disappointed.

I feel like I should yell at her, but I don't. "What'd he say?" My words surprise me. I don't give a fuck what he might've said cause I'm gonna fucking kill him. I'm gonna stab him with my switchblade. I'm gonna take my gun and blow his brains out. I'll make sure he pays.

"He doesn't know," Joanna says, wiping her tears away, looking a little reassured since I haven't started shouting yet. "I need help..."

"The fuck you want me to do?" I demand, throwing my empty beer bottle against the wall to my left. She cringes as it shatters and her arms unconsciously wrap around her stomach. "All I plan to do for ya is drive you to the fuckin' clinic. That'll solve everythin' real quick. And once that's done, I swear I'm gonna kill the bastard that did this to ya."

I only realize I'm yelling when I hear her voice reply. It sounds small and weak in comparison to my voice, but I know that it's her normal tone.

"I'm keepin' it."

I pause for a moment, think it all over. Eighteen years ago, I would've kept shouting until I lost my voice. Maybe I've changed. Maybe it's just her. So I try to understand. Calmly. So I take a few deep breaths before I speak again. "Why?"

"Cause I... Daddy, if I told you I love him, would ya think I sounded dumb as hell?" she asks. Her eyes burn holes into my face then she lets them look to the floor. She studies each stain in the carpet, waiting for my answer.

"S'pose not," I admit, turning away from her so she can't see my expression. "You ain't stupid. You're goin' to college, dammit! First Winston to do that... I think you're fuckin' smarter than me and your brother and everyone else in this horrible family. Two-Bit is a dumbass. He's the one I don't trust no more." I sigh cause I know I gotta ask, but I really don't want to. I take another breath and just go for it. "Think he loves you?"

She shrugs.

We freeze in the moment, silent. It's the end of the conversation. She's got nothing more to say and neither have I. So I grab my new brass knuckles, head out the door. I hear her stand and rush after me, but I don't stop till I reach my car. Turning to face her, I slip the weapon onto my hand.

"I'm payin' an old friend a visit."

"No!"

But I don't listen. I get into my car, turn the key in the ignition. As I back out of the driveway, I see Joanna on her knees, her face hidden by her hands. I don't feel bad, not even a little bit. I'd told her I was gonna kill him. And ain't nobody gonna make Dallas Winston a liar.

xxxxxx

I park my car on the side of the road. Don't wanna get caught up in any fancy manoeuvring to get out of the driveway. It all has to be quick. No one can see me, else I'm going back to jail. Or worse. So I play it safe, gotta be casual. Maybe nobody'll notice what's happening.

It takes me less than a second to cut the power running to the engine and make my way up the front steps. My fist pounds against the door for a good long while then I relax the tension in my muscles as I wait for him. He takes forever to answer - at least a minute. When he finally gets the door open, my blood boils. Cause the only barrier between me and the man I'm gonna kill is gone. I can see him. His hair wet from a recent shower, his eyes lighting up as he grins at me like a fucking idiot.

"Hey, Dal," he says, opening the door a little wider as if to let me in. "Wasn't expectin' to see ya so soon. Thought it was gonna be at least another year till ya came back around. So what'd ya need?"

I place my hands on his chest, shove him backwards. The door closes behind me, but that barely registers in my mind. Stuck in the moment now, veins on fire and hands itching to give the brass knuckles a try. I step closer as he scrambles to regain his balance, my fingers taking hold of his collar, pulling him then pushing him until his back hits the wall. My left hand keeps him in place as my right one draws back and curls into a fist.

He sees the brass knuckles and all the color drains from his face. His hands raise up, surrendering to me. "Dal, c'mon... Don't do this."

"You fucked my daughter."

If it's even possible, his face gets paler. He's chalky white now and I feel his body shaking slightly. "Who told you that?"

"She did," I say, easing up a bit, deciding to enjoy this. I bring my right hand close to him again, let the rings of the brass knuckles press into his cheek. The metal gives his skin one hard stroke, enough to make him flinch involuntarily. "Know what else she told me? You didn't just fuck her. You were a fuckin' dumbass and thought it'd be fun to knock her up."

His eyes widen in shock, but I can't tell if he's pleased by the news or just as pissed as I am. I'd need to wait for the fear to wear off, but I have no patience for that. The fingers of my left hand move from his collar to his throat, squeezing tightly around his neck, choking him. That's when he finally starts fighting back. His hands grab me by the shoulders and try to force me away. I stumble a bit from the unexpected retaliation.

As I'm recovering my footing, he takes advantage of my dropped guard, punching me hard in the stomach. Then he tackles me, pins me to the floor. I hear his attacks more than I feel them. His fists colliding with my face. My head slamming back against the wooden floorboards. I can't feel a thing till after he stops hitting me.

He leans back a bit, giving me a break or maybe just resting his bruised and split open knuckles. Still sitting on me, though, and that pisses me off even more.

"Can we talk about this?" he asks as he releases my wrists from his grip. "Dal... I'm gonna take care of her. You know that, don't you? If she's pregnant with my child, I ain't lettin' her deal with it on her own. I wanna help her, protect her. God dammit, Dal! I wanna marry her!"

If he thinks his words are helping, he's wrong. They make the anger well up inside me, hotter and more intense than ever. Without warning, I bring my fist up from the floor and bury it in his ribs. I feel the bones crack under the force of it. He rolls off me, crying out in pain as his hands clutch his side. I hit him with the brass knuckles again, in his face this time, opening a chasm of a gash in his cheek. Then two more quick jabs to the ribs - one with my left hand and the last with my right hand.

I stop. Two-Bit's just laying on his back, not trying to fight me, not saying anything. His fingers still hold on to his side, but his chest barely moves. I lean my ear down, close to his mouth, and hear faint wheezing. The anger disappears in an instant. Cause I realize I must've hurt him real bad - broken his ribs or something.

Without wasting another second, I get up and call for an ambulance. I think I'll actually kill him if I touch him so I figure I'll let the professionals handle it. I tell them he fell down the stairs. They're not so convinced when they see him, but they don't ask questions. They just do their job then go on their way, bringing Two-Bit back to the hospital with them. At least he was talking. Painfully, too quietly... But it meant he was still alive.

Check all the rooms before I let myself rest on the couch. Amelia ain't home now, but I gotta make sure she gets taken care of when she comes back. Figure I owe her just a bit for nearly beating her father to death. In hindsight, I'd known from the beginning that I wasn't setting out to end his life. I just wanted to teach him a lesson.

The girl comes home with a nicely wrapped present. She sees me on the sofa, recognizes me as one of her father's friends and relaxes slightly.

"Where's my dad?" she asks.

"Hospital," I say, watching a sad little expression take over her young face - worry, I think. What is it like to care about someone so much that you're always concerned with their wellbeing? Even when they're not around... I haven't felt that in a long time. So maybe that's why I try to make things better for her. "Do... D'ya need anythin'?"

"No..."

I nod slightly then turn my attention to the brass knuckles that are still in my hand. I look them over for a few minutes before I realize something. In the light, I can read Albany's requested engraving: _For my old man._

The words mean more to me than I'll ever let on.


	11. Chapter 11

**Reviews:**

 **GladerTributeCamper - Glad you liked it! And I guess you'll just have to keep reading if you want to know how Two-Bit's doing.**

 **Sammy - Thanks! I actually was a little worried about the last line, but it seems like I was worried for nothing. :)**

 **Amanda - Yeah, I was really inspired to write that chapter. Probably because the holiday thing fit in perfectly. :p**

 **Fiction by Jen - Thank you so much! I love reading your reviews, by the way. They always make me so happy. In response to the line you found funny: I think the emphasis is on the fact that it's someone else making him a liar. Cause even though he's dishonest, he wants people to believe his lies. Does that make sense? I feel like I could've explained that better... Sorry!**

 _ **AN - Hey guys! Sorry if this update took a while. It's been kinda hard to write lately. Anyway, it's the night of the 4th of July here in the States and the fireworks won't let me sleep so here's another chapter! Yay! Please enjoy. :D**_

Chapter 11: Tim 2

I sit in the living room, my feet kicked up on the coffee table, newspaper in hand. It's probably around noon. Not really sure, though, cause the days have been equally sunny lately no matter what the hour. And I'm too lazy to get up and check the wall clock. So I just turn the page to the arrests of the week, not caring what time it is. My eyes scan down the list of mugshots. And I'm sorta thankful that I don't see any faces I recognize.

"Honey," Cynthia says, stepping into the room with a bowl in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. I faintly smell chocolate - which piques my curiosity. "Why aren't you dressed yet?"

"Ain't workin' today, am I?" I reply as I try to catch a glimpse of whatever my wife is baking. But she pulls the bowl behind her back playfully, out of my sight. I grunt a bit then turn back to my newspaper. Cynthia sighs in annoyance then moves to stand directly in front of me. I look up at her.

She's got this frown on her face and it ain't pretty. Almost makes me want to cringe, but I keep my cool for the sake of maintaining dignity. "No, you don't have to work. And do you know why?" she asks. I open my mouth to answer, but I don't get to utter a sound. "Cause it's a national holiday. And do you know what happened to _make_ this a holiday?" I don't even try this time cause she answers herself almost immediately. "Two hundred and seven years ago, on this very day, our country declared her independence from the British Empire. Didn't they teach you that in your classes?"

"Dunno. Never went to 'em."

Cynthia shakes her head in disappointment. I know she ain't happy that I took my education so lightly as a kid. She keeps trying to get me to go back and graduate properly. Something about being able to get a better job and make more money. But I support my family just fine and I'll fuck up anybody who don't think so. Including my wife, unfortunately. It's been a source of too many arguments recently...

Today, she doesn't say anything about school. Maybe she just wants to avoid the fight this time. An ugly fight... The kind that makes her cry and me shout. The kind that leaves bruises on her arms and bloody scratches down my chest. Or maybe she has some other thing she wants to lecture me about.

"We've been invited to Darry and Marley's house for a 4th of July barbecue," she says. "Party starts in three hours. You're gonna get ready. Right now. Then maybe you can have some of these brownies I'm baking. Cause you're not getting any if you make me go to another gathering by myself."

I shrug slightly, set my newspaper to the side. A small part of me wants to resist. Until I realize that any attempt to do so woulf just make my eventual loss even more humiliating and pathetic. Without a word, I rise from the couch and follow my wife's instructions. She puts the brownie batter into the oven then assures me that the party will be great while I throw on jeans and a t-shirt.

"Everyone will be there. All the kids - even Albany. And Two-Bit, as well," she tells me from the hallway outside our bedroom. "He got out of the hospital only a little while ago."

"Is that so?" I ask, opening the door. "What happened to 'im?"

"Dally nearly killed him, that's what!" she replies, face alight with the joy of retelling good gossip. "See, I heard from Bonnie, who heard from Susan, who heard from Marley, who heard from Joanna, who heard from Two-Bit himself that Dallas Winston whipped out a pair of brass knuckles on him. Beat him half to Hell, too. He almost died, for God's sake!"

My eyebrows shoot up skeptically. Cynthia tells the wildest stories sometimes. That's why she was always the one to put the girls to bed when they were younger - I just couldn't make up shit like that. She sees my expression, knows I don't believe her then puts her hands on her hips. Frowns at me in that cute, pouty way of hers that can, without fail, make me smile internally.

Anyway, I figure I gotta defend myself pretty quick. Before she can say a word, I speak up. "Look, sweetheart, now, I ain't sayin' that you're lyin'. But I think that you gotta talk to Two-Bit for yourself if you want the whole truth. Don't ya know by now that Bonnie Randle likes to tell tales?"

"Well, of course I do," she says. "But I don't think that she would make up something like this. And besides, Marley verified it. You aren't accusing her of lying, are you?"

"Guess not," I mumble, settling back down on the couch. I don't bother with continuing to look over the newspaper - it ain't nothing I haven't read before. Instead, I take a look around my relatively empty home and decide to change the subject. "The girls in their rooms?"

Cynthia shakes her head. "One of Darry's boys asked them if they would walk over a bit early to help set up. It was Theodore, I think. Not entirely sure, though... You know, I'm so glad we didn't have twins. I can only imagine what it must be like to be unable to tell your own children apart. Poor Marley."

I shrug, not really listening after she mentioned Theodore Curtis. Cause I've heard of him and his brother. And they're trouble. Like Curly and me had been, back in the day. Even worse, actually. Least we'd never killed nobody. Now, they'll tell you they didn't do it, but I know they did. Unfortunately, cops these days are worthless. Can't even figure out when they're being lied to. All they need is a fancy story and they're satisfied. And the Curtis twins are some of the best storytellers in Tulsa. They learned from Albany Winston, after all.

Don't go thinking I got something against them cause I don't. They're real clever and I respect that. I just don't want them anywhere near my daughters.

xxxxxx

The party started round 4pm. My wife and I get there only a few minutes after that. I've never been one for arriving on time, but Cynthia is determined to change my bad habits. Not surprisingly, she's done a decent job. I'd do just about anything if it makes her happy. After almost losing her, I... Well, anyway, we're at Darry's house now, sitting in his backyard as he mans the grill nearby.

All the women gather in one corner of the lawn while the men hover near Darry. I don't think any of us really know what to do. Except Pony and Soda, that is. They're talking like it hasn't been eighteen years since all of the gang was together. But the again, they've always been good at diffusing awkward situations. Like the first time I'd been invited to one of their 'reunions'. Almost made me feel welcome, they did. But I know they only want me around so that Cynthia will be happy.

I notice my girls hanging round with the twins and Albany. Then there's Steve's daught Rebecca and Dally's daughter Joanna sitting together on a picnic blanket. The littler children - Ollie, Ben, Amber, and Paul - are playing a small game of soccer under Johnny's watchful eye. He turns in his wheelchair to smile at me then returns his full attention to the kids.

I'm off by myself till Cynthia comes over and tells me to lighten up. So I force myself to stand beside Soda as he tells some joke that probably would've been funny if I can manage to focus on what he's saying. The guys all start laughing suddenly. I crack a smile then turn away in a desperate attempt to find something else to do. Thankfully, my efforts are rewarded.

There's the sound of a car door slamming shut then Two-Bit walks into the backyard. His little girl clutches his hand in a white-knuckled grip, looks about fearfully, buries her head in his side. I just barely catch the hiss of pain that pushes through his tightly closed lips. And I can tell without a doubt that he's in pretty bad shape from the way he walks. Shambles, more like. That's the best way to describe his uneven, breathless movement.

He smiles and waves to everyone, announcing his presence. Then the women are all over him. I hear them fawning over him, asking if he's okay and if there's anything at all that they can do for him. I watch with disinterest for a bit as he turns down all their offers, but then figure that my time would be better spent elsewhere.

I make my way over to Lauren and Tracy. They grin at me, joke about how they thought I wasn't even gonna bother with showing up. By this point, most of the food is done and being passed out so one of Darry's twins excuses himself. He asks my girls what they want then turns to me.

"Hotdog or hamburger, Mr. Shepard?"

"Not hungry," I reply.

He nods then runs off to get my daughters their dinners. As he goes, his twin smirks in my direction then stretches, putting his arm around Lauren's shoulders. This one is definitely Theo... Not even half a second later, she hits Theo off of her. Hard. I hear the smacking sound, feel my chest swell with pride. Good girl.

She looks to me and smiles sweetly. "Hey, Daddy? Is it okay if me and Trace go see some fireworks tonight?"

"Sure thing," I say. Then I remember what Cynthia is always telling me: _Ask who will be there before you give them permission. Are you listening to me, Tim?_ I nod unintentionally. "Wait a minute... Who's goin' with ya?"

"Just me and some girls from their class, is all," Albany says, glaring at me in a way that's so familiar, it makes me want to punch his fucking face until it swells up and bleeds. He's exactly like his father, that's for sure. And as I'm thinking this, he steps much closer to Lauren. "You got a problem with that, _sir_? It don't make ya uneasy that it's just gonna be me and your girls, does it?"

And I know I should be smarter than to fall for this ploy, but he really gets under my skin. Before I understand what I'm doing, I shake my head. "Course not. Have fun, girls."

Lauren's face just lights up - brighter than one of those fireworks, I'd wager. She hugs me and Tracy does too. They both thank me repeatedly, but I wave it aside. I'm just beginning to turn away when I notice another blond haired man striding toward us. He stops right next to me, nods a slight acknowledgement to his old pal.

"Winston," I say.

"Shepard," he replies. Then his attention shifts to his son. "When'd you get outta jail? Thought ya still had a while to go."

Albany shrugs. "Good behavior." There's an awkward pause. He coughs uncomfortably, clears his throat. All this time, the two are staring each other down. "So, uh... Jo said you liked the gift..."

"Yeah."

"And it was kinda cool of ya to break 'em in by poundin' Mr. Mathews' ribs," he continues, shrugging casually as he becomes a little more comfortable with the situation. "Well, cool for an old man, I guess. Least I didn't have to do it myself..."

"Thanks..." Dally looks around, his glare lingering on Two-Bit longer than anyone else. I wonder what happened between them cause I only just realize that what Cynthia had heard from Bonnie is true. I'm so wrapped up in those thoughts that I almost miss Dal's next words. "You wanna grab some food?"

His son almost smiles, his lips curving upwards ever so slightly. Then he nods. "Sure. Why the hell not?"

They walk off together, specifically bumping into Two-Bit as they go. The russet haired man flinches then guides his daughter over to where Johnny's watching the other little kids play. I watch the exchange curiously. And, not one to leave questions unanswered, I approach the only person likely to give me information.

I sit down on the picnic blanket between Rebecca and Joanna. Both girls get uneasy, edge away from me slightly. Steve's daughter cocks an eyebrow then opens her mouth to demand to know why I'm bothering the two of them. But I stop her.

"I ain't here for you," I say, hoping that I don't sound too threatening. "Just wanna talk to Joanna, yeah? Only for a little while."

"It's okay, Becca," the blonde assures, smiling as nicely as she can manage. Then she turns fully to me. "What can I do for ya, Mr. Shepard?"

"Just lookin' to find out what your dad and Mr. Mathews have been fighting about," I reply, carefully gauging her reaction to my request. She stays completely stoic at first but she doesn't say anything. I keep on staring, silent, and that's when her face falls. And I know I'm on to something.

She realizes that her expression had changed, so she pastes a smile over her frowning lips. "Now, I don't see how that's any of your damn business..."

xxxxxx

It's long after the party ended and me and Cynthia are trying to get some sleep. But the nearby booming of fireworks is too much, always breaking into our vague dreams when we just start to drift off. They finally stop around midnight and we sigh in relief. My wife curls against my chest, quickly falling asleep. I almost follow her, but then I hear the front door open and the soft sound of muffled crying.

I groan under my breath and get out of bed, make my way into the entry hall. Lauren leans against the doorway, sobbing as Tracy tries to comfort her. Fighting instinct threatens to take over at the sight of them and confusion momentarily clouds my judgement. Do I grab my gun or hug my daughter? For almost too long, I can't make the decision. Then I open my arms and Lauren runs to me.

"I'll take it from here, Trace," I say. "Get to bed, yeah?"

"Okay..." she replies then scurries down the hall with a single glance back at her distressed older sister.

When she's completely gone, I turn my full attention on Lauren. I stroke her hair gently as I pull her closer to my chest. It's been a long time since she last needed me like this. And the realization is bittersweet. Yeah, it's great that she's becoming more independent. But I miss those days when she couldn't solve her problems without me...

I sit her down on the couch and settle beside her, putting my arm around her shoulders. My voice is gentle as I ask, "What happened at the fireworks, sweetheart?"

She doesn't answer right away - I almost worry that she won't say anything at all. But then she surprises me. Cause when she speaks, her tone isn't tearful. It's angry. "Albany was all over this other bitch. Her name is Jolene and-" Her voice breaks and the sobs start again. "And I can't compete with her cause she's so beautiful. How could I ever think that he... God, I'm so pathetic..."

"You ain't pathetic," I tell her, kissing the top of her head. "Hearts don't ever listen to reason, ya know - not your fault. And besides, you're a Shepard. You got the best genes on this side of Tulsa, I promise ya that. Jolene don't got nothin' on you."

"R-really?"

"Course," I say, gently wiping away her tears. "And who cares what Albany Winston is doin', anyway? We gotta know by now that that family is nothin' but trouble. Right?" She barely nods, but I still manage to see it. I smile at her, stand up, then hold out my hand for her to take. "Why don't we go get some ice cream?"

"Yeah..." She gets up, keeps on holding my hand. "I'd like that..."


	12. Chapter 12

**Reviews:**

 **Moniquian Rose - Yep, they got married in Steve's chapter (which was 8, I think). It was just a quick mention, though. Nothing big. Anyway, glad you liked chapter 11.**

 **Zarak - Aw, thanks!**

 **Fiction by Jen - Alright, good. I'm glad I wasn't writing nonsense. :) Also, it's great that you liked the chapter. And I thought the ending was nice too. Tim's a pretty good dad even though he never seemed like the fatherly type when he was growing up.**

 **Sammy - Do you mean a confrontation between them about Joanna's situation? Or Dally trying to apologize for leaving in the first place? Or something else? I'd be more than willing to put this conversation in, I just need clarification on what exactly you're looking for. :)**

 **Amanda - Ice cream always makes me feel better! Anyway, I'm pleased that this chapter spoke to you. We all have those days where we just need someone to lean on. Even a Shepard.**

 **GladerTributeCamper - Two-Bit is slowly healing, but things definitely remain uneasy with Dally. And yeah, Lauren doesn't have the best luck. But at least she gets ice cream, right? Replying to what you said about the fireworks: the original plan was that Albany got shot (not fatally) during a fight. So maybe that's why you felt something worse was going to happen. :p**

 _ **AN - Just a quick warning because this chapter is really suggestive. Also, I'm sorry this update took such a long time. Inspiration hasn't been working for me lately. Anyway, please enjoy!**_

Chapter 12: Albany (September 1995)

County jails ain't nothing like state prison. They're soft, don't prepare nobody for that next step. Cause they don't really help us any, either. Cleaning up messes ain't their job. They say it's something we gotta do for ourselves. But ain't that the reason I went this way in the first place? My life got itself fucked up and I don't know how to fix it. Ain't asking for help, just letting you know how it is round here...

Them fancy lawmen caught up with me just over six years ago. I was minding my own business and the bastards picked me up on some suspicion or another. They made up these charges - lies about things I'd never done. Rumors got real vicious, I guess. This town's never had no love for me and it'd be damned if it didn't get to say it'd put an end to Albany Winston's reign of terror. Some of the papers started printing out my story, dressing me up like a modern day Billy the Kid, giving me the credit for any murder they stumbled on.

I think I woulda gone away for a long time if they'd straightened out their stories before court. Maybe it never occurred to them that there'd be a judge here that didn't have it out for me from the start. He probably assumes that I owe him now, cause most of Tulsa thinks he let me get away with twelve murders. Safe to say that his career pretty much ended with my first case. Sure, I felt bad, but I couldn't do nothing about it.

So the case got thrown out for having no evidence to connect me with the murders whatsoever. Guess I got lucky with my defense team, too. Money always wins out in the end. They saved my ass just cause I paid them to. Even though I know a couple of them thought I was guilty. Maybe the trial convinced them I wasn't so bad. I bet that it would've if I hadn't been arrested for legitimate reasons the next year.

Don't really wanna get into it. But let's just say that cops ain't too happy when you bust their faces in with a beer bottle. That was the end of the line for me. Any sympathy I'd managed to gather from the public over the past few months was gone. And this time, I wasn't so lucky with the judge I got. For a man who hated me, though, he gave me a fairly easy sentence. Just five years in a state prison instead of the maximum of fifteen. God, I almost wish I hadn't been so smug about the whole thing. Cause I really didn't know what I was getting in to. I'd never spent time in a state prison before - only the penitentiary and the county jail.

Prison ain't fun. Things happened to me in there that I can't tell nobody about. Not that I'm really in the mood for talking anymore. But aside from that, I didn't want them getting ideas about me cause, out here, I ain't gonna be a bitch again.

People look at you different when the law finally throws you back out on the street. Learned that the hard way. When you're a Winston, you know not to expect too much, but I'd honestly wanted him to be there. I'd wanted him to place his hand on my shoulder, tell me he was proud cause I'd gone and done something he'd never managed. I wish I hadn't dreamt of it every night in the days leading up to my release.

My father didn't drive me back home. And neither did Marlene, Darrel, Sodapop, Joanna, or any of my friends. Like I said, people I cared about don't treat me the same anymore. They see me as a criminal now. I guess that's the only way they can think to cope with the pain I caused... Anyway, I didn't have to walk home, cause one person actually showed up.

Little Lauren Shepard. I remember feeling my eyes widen at the sight of her just standing there by her car, arms crossed. She was the last person I expected to see. I broke her heart, years ago - her father told me that. Well, he didn't say it in so many words since he preferred letting his fists do the talking. So I was surprised that old Tim allowed her to come get me. And, last I'd checked, she was Theo's girl. He'd be a fucking idiot if he gave her permission to pick up a sex-starved man that she once had feelings for.

"Me and Theo don't see each other no more," she said, answering my unspoken question as I climbed into the passenger seat of her car. Must've seen it in my face - she always knew how to read me. She twisted the key in the ignition, shifted into drive, then let the prison grow farther and farther away. "So... What do ya wanna do?"

Fuck somebody. But I figured that wasn't the answer she was looking for. "S'pose I could go for a bite to eat. I kinda missed real food," I mumbled as I stared intently at my hands.

"Sure thing," she replied, smiling faintly. We drove in silence for a few miles then she glanced at me. "How bout we stop by your place first, though? I'm sure you wanna change into something clean."

I grunted in agreement.

The drive back to my house seemed to take forever. Cause we didn't really talk none and I was struggling with keeping my eyes focused on anything that wasn't Lauren. She had a nice body, though. Real nice. Slim waist and large, round breasts. And, in spite of myself, I was watching her, imagining her moaning beneath me and her fingernails scratching down my bare back. With all my strength, I shake myself out of the fantasy.

But I'm still desperate for her touch, to see her face flushed and her hair a mess and her chest rising and falling rapidly as her breathing progresses into heavy panting. Fucking hell...

"You okay, Al?" she asked. The car pulled into my driveway and she hopped out, still waiting for my response. When she figured out that I didn't plan on saying anything, she kept on talking. "Cause you're bein' real strange and... Prison wasn't good to you, was it?"

She'd phrased it as a question, but she already knew the answer. Figured I'd reply anyway. Thought I could convince her that it hadn't effected me so much. "Prison don't do no good for anybody. They ain't helpin' us, ya know. Just takin' us off the streets for a while. Kinda helps you, I guess." I risked faking a laugh.

Lauren shrugged, not really buying it. But she didn't try to do nothing about it so I supposed everything was all good. So I just took my keys out of my pocket and let us into the house - though the door was already unlocked. I frowned inwardly then pushed my way into the living room. The place was a mess, different from the way I'd left it five years ago. Dark stains on the carpet, broken glass shards scattered around the sofa, long gashes torn into the wall like a monster's claw marks. I stepped into the room, turned off the tv, which had been blaring last night's news.

"Dad?" I called, reaching for something to use as a weapon. My fingers found an old empty picture frame and latched on to it like it was a lifeline. "You here?"

We entered the kitchen, found the kitchen door open and swinging on its hinges. I set down the frame and took up a knife instead. "Fuckin' bum," I muttered, closing the door. Even though I'd given my old man permission to stop by and use my house while I was locked up, I still felt uneasy. Something wasn't quite right.

I kept going through the house, looking for my dad, but I couldn't find him. Lauren followed me, stuck close by just in case. We reached the last room - a small guest bedroom that was down its own hallway in the back of the house. There, the destruction from the earlier rooms was much less obvious. Just a scuff on the wall or a little tear in the carpet. As we neared the door, I heard these weird noises that I only recognized from the few times I'd been allowed to go to Joanna's place back in the mid-eighties. Crying.

Glancing back at Lauren, I saw that she was as confused as me. Then I opened the door and entered the bedroom. There was a some kid sitting on the mattress, hugging his knees to his chest as he cried. He looked about seven or eight years old, but I wasn't too sure.

"The hell're ya doin' in my house, kid?" I demanded, not sure how to make my voice seem gentle and welcoming. Lauren hit my shoulder in response, glaring at me.

"That ain't how ya talk to a little boy, Al," she said then turned her attention to the child. The kid had looked up at us, brown eyes wide with fear. "Hey buddy. How'd you get in here? Where are your parents?" Her voice had raised in pitch and sounded song-like in quality.

He sniffled, wiped his eyes and nose with the back of his hand. Then he began to talk. "I... The door was open... Thought nobody lived here..." The kid took a breath and waited a couple seconds before continuing. "M-my name is Michael. I'm from Crawford County, Arkansas. I don't really know where I am... B-but I got here cause Mama's boyfriend brought me. And he told me to wait for him on the sidewalk, but I got too hot so I came inside."

I laughed - a short, barking sound - and told him he was far from home. Might've mentioned something about his mother's boyfriend not coming back for him, too. Which, of course, earned me another punch from Lauren. Then she kept talking to him while I tuned out. Not that I wasn't curious to know what some little punk was doing almost 150 miles away from Crawford County. But as I've said, I was pretty distracted. By Lauren.

Her just being there drove me crazy. I wanted to shove her against the wall, kiss and bite her lips until they turned bright red. But I had to resist my urges. Couldn't lose control with that kid around.

We ended up taking Michael to the police station across town. Apparently, he'd been abandoned by his mother's boyfriend - as I had guessed - and had been waiting at my place for over a day. It was kinda sad, actually. No one looking for him or anything. Just a kid on his own. Worse than what I had, cause at least Mr. Curtis took care of me. So... Maybe I wanted to help this kid out a bit... If I did, maybe he wouldn't be like me. Maybe he wouldn't grow up just to go to state prison and miss out on the most important years of his adult life while everyone he cared about forgot he existed. God damn...

Me and Lauren waited around for the officer to finish with his phone calls - one to the Mulberry police station, several to Michael's unanswering legal guardian, and one to what sounded like an orphanage. When he finally ended the last conversation, he turned to Michael.

"You didn't tell me that your mother passed away," the officer said, leaning forward in his chair. I glanced at Lauren, seeking just a glimpse of anything that could satisfy the smoldering desire within me. Instead, I found myself focusing on the sadness in her eyes. My heart lurched unpleasantly. Why was she so upset? Her whole family was still around. I didn't get it.

"Yeah..." Michael looked down at his feet. "Joe's been watchin' me."

"He left you here," the man replied as he frowned deeply. "Sounds to me like he isn't doing such a great job of that. And you said you don't have any other relatives to stay with... Well, son, I don't think we can send you back out there when we've already found evidence of his negligence as a guardian. We'll have to put you into foster care. I've made some calls already, but nothing's set."

"But..." The boy glanced at me then turned to Lauren. He pouted at her as if she could help him in some way. "I don't wanna go... I like your house, Laurie."

She gently ruffled his curly blond hair. "Oh, honey, that was Albany's house. And I don't think you can stay there no more."

The police officer narrowed his eyes at me. He'd already been pretty damn suspicious when I stepped into the station to report an abandoned child. Probably thought I had something to do with it. At least he wasn't one of the men I'd fought with... Anyway, I glared at him in return and told him that I didn't do nothing.

"Look, kid," I said, kicking my feet up on the officer's desk only to have them shoved off by the guy, who suddenly looked very red in the face, "I ain't the fatherly type and I sure as hell ain't gonna be approved by the law to be your guardian."

"Oh..."

And that was the end of it. I dragged Lauren back to my place, leaving Michael at the police station. Even had to drive her car cause she was crying so hard. She asked me why I don't got no sympathy, told me to feel something - anything at all - for a poor little boy who was about to get lost in the system. But I couldn't. Not when that same system had failed me. Well, it wasn't really the same, I guess. Child care and justice. For me, they were. Cause, growing up, I spent more time with corrections officers than with my own parents. Adopted parents, anyway. My real dad didn't come back until I was eighteen and my mother... I've never met her.

We arrived at my house and I started cleaning up the five years of filth that my dad had left behind. Lauren grabbed a tissue from the box in the kitchen, stood watching me. I glaned up at her from my place on the floor, on my knees and picking glass shards out of the carpeting. The sharp fragments were amber in color so I was pretty sure they were from Dad's beer bottles - many, many beer bottles. He'd probably drank himself dead by that point...

"Hey, Al?"

I stood up and dumped the last of the glass into the trash can. "Yeah?"

"You think you ever wanna have kids?" Lauren met me by the garbage, tossing her thoroughly soaked tissue on top of the shards. For the moment, it seemed like her tears had dried up. Maybe she'd be a bit more fun.

My heart skipped a couple beats when I heard her ask the question. Then she was so close to me and all of my dirty thoughts from earlier came rushing into my head. But that was the trouble cause it got hard to think right. A proper answer probably wasn't too plausible at that second. "Do you?" It was all I could think to say, backed by my usual scorn.

She paused to consider then nodded. "I do. Cause I realized that lettin' Michael go like that... It was one of the hardest things I'd ever had to do. Life ain't gonna be kind to him and, even though we only knew him for an hour or so, I wanted to protect him from it. He seemed so innocent, ya know? What'd he do to deserve gettin' treated so bad?" She sighed and stared down at the grimy counter. "I just wanna save some poor kid, show 'em they can be loved. Adopt, I guess."

"That's pretty cool of ya," I said. And I actually meant it.

She didn't say nothing so I figured the conversation was over. I returned to the living room, tried to think of something to do to cover up the gashes in the wall. Definitely made by a switchblade, I noted as I ran my fingers down the length of the ripped material.

Lauren followed me then sat down on the floor by my feet. "Reckon I'd need experience raisin' a kid to adopt one, though. Those agencies'll wanna be sure they can trust me. And takin' care of Tracy don't count cause she's only a year younger." She bit her bottom lip, looking all nervous for some reason. Which I, of course, found real fucking sexy. Just tried not to think about all that anymore. It was never going to happen.

There was another one of those pauses, long and awkward as we both waited for the other person to talk. I continued on with my work. Just as I finished slapping duct tape over the walls wounds, she started up anothe conversation. Or, rather, she restarted the old one in the same way it had begun. With two simple words.

"Hey, Al?" she asked, stepping closer to me then taking the roll of tape from my hands and setting it on the coffee table.

"Yeah?" On the inside, my heart was racing. But outwardly, I kept my cool. I couldn't start acting like one of them pansies. My reputation round here was ruined enough already.

"Do you wanna get me pregnant?"

If I'd been drinking, I would've choked. As it was, my lungs weren't working too great. Cause of the shock mainly. But maybe there was something else deep down. Something I hadn't understood since I first started feeling it all those years ago. I should've told her no. It was a fucking stupid idea. But then the lust from before kicked in and all common sense flew out the window.

I grabbed her hips, pulled her against me. My lips captured hers in a crushing kiss, full of desire and five years worth of pent-up sexual frustration, as I pressed closer and closer to her body. Shocked by the suddenness of my actions, she hesitated. Then she threw her arms around my neck and returned the kiss. Hard. Eager. And, once we started tearing off our clothes and letting our hands wander, her kiss wasn't the only thing those adjectives described.

I won't get into the details of it, but it felt so fucking good. Better than good, maybe even the best sex I've ever had. Wouldn't bother with telling her that, but that's what I was thinking. Maybe being with her was just... right.

Even as it happened more and more frequently, I still told myself that we were only having sex. I tried sleeping around, but it wasn't the same. Those girls couldn't satisfy me the way Lauren could. They'd be completely spent, but I'd still need more from them. So I ended up seeing multiple women in one night, got myself involved in a couple orgies too. But I figured something was wrong, in the end, cause I still couldn't get Lauren out of my mind.

At some point, I tracked down my old man and through his drunk haze he taught me a pretty important lesson. He said that if I can only be pleasured by one woman, I'd be a fucking dumbass if I didn't marry her. Said it probably had something to do with emotion. Which I didn't want to admit I was afraid of. But I came to terms with it eventually. Violently. Better that then not at all, I guess.

xxxxxx

"Hey Lauren?" We're in bed together, all of our clothes scattered on the floor. She's been pregnant for a few months now, but we hadn't stopped our weekly meetings. The original deal had been pretty much thrown out. The one that said we would give up the sex once there was a baby.

"Mm, yeah...?" She's exhausted, barely awake to reply.

"Will you marry me?"

She sits bolt upright, stares at me in disbelief. Then she lays down again and wraps her arms around me. "I've loved you since we were kids, ya know. So, of course I will."

And I can't help but smile, feeling her slightly swollen stomach pressed against my back. Cause we're gonna be a family. Just the three of us. It's one step towards healing. The past abandonment, the current delinquency. Guess that was one thing I can thank state prison for, though. I hadn't known I was ready to fix myself until it had broken me.


	13. Chapter 13

**Sammy - Well, I wasn't sure what you wanted to see with that scene, so I didn't want to include it until I was absolutely certain of what you wanted to see. But I think I get it now, so we'll see what happens.**

 **Fiction by Jen - I'm so glad you liked Albany's perspective! I almost wanted to have that be the end, you know? But I think I'll continue for at least another chapter or two.**

 **MazeRunnerJunkie - Oh my god, thank you so much! I think that's one of the best compliments I've ever received. :D I definitely will be doing another chapter with Two-Bit, by the way. And I'll see if I can come up with another plot for Johnny and Oliver.**

Chapter 13: Darry 2

"Dad, this is my... friend, Brian." There's something about the way he says the word 'friend' that puts me on edge. It seems hesitant, like he'd been about to say another thing entirely but then changed his mind. I don't like it, not one bit. So I keep my expression stern, refusing to humor my son. I don't even offer up a greeting.

The boy looks like a soc - even though I know that's not really what they're called anymore. He's shorter than Wes but more muscular, better dressed, and his facial features are gentle but defined. I assume he hasn't experienced much trouble in his lifetime. There isn't that hardened look in his eyes, the one that my boys have. The same one that I have. I know he can tell I'm scrutinizing him; he visibly shrinks beneath my gaze and I can't keep myself from frowning deeper.

"N-nice to meet you, sir," Brian says after long moments of utter silence. He extends his arm, fingers reaching toward me, desperately hoping that I'll accept his gesture.

I wait just long enough to make him squirm before I grasp his hand in mine. "Nice to meet you, too," I reply, my tone not betraying any of my emotions. His handshake is tentative, as if he's afraid that I'll break him and doesn't want to grip my fingers too tightly for fear that too much physical contact will allow me to sense his fear. My gaze sweeps over him one last time and I let a scowl slash across my lips. "So what'll you boys be doin' today?"

Wes raises an eyebrow at me, probably realizing what I've been trying to do. His hand presses a faintly reassuring ghost of a touch against his intimidated friend's lower back. Then, in an instant, he returns his arm to his side and glares at me.

"Got some studyin' to do," he says. His voice is short, biting. "Don't bother us, yeah? Our history exam is tomorrow."

"Please," Brian adds, glancing nervously at Wes.

I nod once, turn my back on the boys and let them rush down the hall to Wes's bedroom - the one he shares with Theo. But I'm still thinking about them, wondering what exactly is going on. Something about the situation feels like they're trying to trick me. So I make a mental note to keep a close eye on them then continue on with my own business.

Marley is still at the grocery store, Theo's got detention, Albany is in jail, and Joanna is baby-sitting Amelia. The house is empty except for me and the two boys, which means I have space to clean up a little. I dust the shelves in the living room and take a washrag to the kitchen counters. My wife will be pleased when she sees how nice the place is starting to look. Even I can tell the difference and it makes my chest swell with pride. There's still the clothes scattered around on the floor, though. So I gather them up, toss them into the washing machine.

It's pretty new, but sits crooked on floorboards that probably won't support it for too much longer. I try not to think about the money it'll take to get that situation fixed and I focus instead on whose clothes I'm dealing with. Theo's for the most part. He has a bit of a habit of taking off his shirt and throwing it into the living room right when he gets home from school. Then there's a sock - which is too small to belong to anyone other than my six year old nephew, Paul - and a skirt of Joanna's that Marley mended last night.

When the wash is done and dried, I fold the clothes and bring them to their respective bedrooms. I start with Joanna's, pausing after I hang her skirt up in the closet to glance around. It's strange how the place hasn't really changed since Renee died. Her bed is still pressed against the far wall and all the things she used to like are exactly where she left them. I wonder how Joanna can stand to see this everyday. With a shudder, I exit the room and continue on to Wes and Theo's.

My son and his friend aren't talking when I approach. It's a realization that makes my eyebrows furrow. But I push that bad feeling away and gently open the door.

The clothesbasket drops out of my hands when I see them, curled up on Wes's bed, textbooks forgotten, their lips pressed together in a tender kiss. They part frantically when they hear the heavy thump of the basket hitting the ground and turn to stare at me. Eyes wide, mouths hanging slightly open... I imagine their shock is mirrored on my own face for just a moment. But then I rein in my emotions, block all expression from reaching my features.

"Brian, I think you should go home," I say as calmly as I can manage.

"Y-yes, sir..." he mumbles, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He glances at my son and I see a brief flash of concern shine through his shame. But it vanishes just as suddenly as it appeared and he shifts his attention to the task of gathering his textbook then exiting with any shred of dignity that he still possesses.

Wes leaps to his feet, tries to follow his friend, but my glare makes him sit down again. He hangs his head, shielding his face from my view. I stay standing in the doorway as I catch short glimpses of tears dropping into his lap. Finally, I kick the clothesbasket into the room.

"Put Theo's things away," I order, feeling my boiling blood pound through my veins. My hands ball into fists, shake uncontrollably. Deep breathes don't work anymore. I've used this method so many times that my anger has figured out how to counter it. Instead, I let my blunt fingernails dig into my palms, focus on the pain. After unsuccessfully attempting to calm down, I find myself yelling. "And stay in here till tomorrow! No dinner."

"But, Dad..."

I take a step towards him, causing him to flinch away from me. With every ounce of self-control I have, I stop myself from getting any closer. "Just be thankful I ain't beatin' you," I hiss. Then I turn on my heel and leave him alone, slamming the door behind me.

Theo comes home pretty soon after and, as is his routine, he takes off his shirt, throws it onto the couch. I think he notices that I'm fuming, but he doesn't say anything. He just frowns at me then walks down the hall towards his bedroom. Still shaking with anger, I keep myself rooted in the kitchen, glaring holes in the table until my ears pick up the sound of talking.

There's no way for me to tell what's being said. It's all just garbled nonsense, muffled by the walls between us. Theo opens the door again and I can hear everything clearly. Wes's sobs, Theo's reassurances. I try to block it out, but I know my son's crying is easily dismantling my anger. Did I really hurt him that much? Guilt surges through my body and it's abrupt impact is enough to make my knees weak. I drop into a chair, listen closer.

"C'mon, cheer up," I hear Theo say. "He can't stay mad at ya forever." There's a pause, during which Wes's sobbing don't even lighten. "Hey, least ya don't gotta lie no more. Cause he knows now and he'll tell Ma. So, yeah..."

"A-and what'll Mom say?" Wes manages to choke out through his tears. I can barely understand what he says next. And apparently Theo can't understand at all, because the younger twin takes a few deep breaths and repeats what I originally thought he had said. "She'll hate me... I d-don't wanna make her cry..."

"She loves you," Theo protested, the pitch of his voice slightly raised. As if he can't quite believe that he has to tell his brother this. "If you're happy, so's she."

"What about Dad?"

He doesn't have an answer for Wes's question. So he finds a way out of responding. With a promise to talk to me, he shuts the door and comes out into the kitchen. I look up at him, almost daring to hope, but he won't even look at me. Sighing, I slump further down, just stare at the wood of our kitchen table until Marley returns from the store.

She plants a loving kiss on my right temple then asks for a hand with putting the groceries away. I stand wordlessly, taking a few cans of soup out of one of the bags. From what seems like a large distance, I can hear her talking. Maybe she's telling me about her day or some strange man that approached her while she'd been shopping. Either way, I'm too lost in my own thoughts to properly engage in conversation.

Finally, she seems to realize I'm not acting like my usual self. She tucks the box of flour she'd been holding into the rather sparce pantry and walks up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist. The weight of her head rests between my shoulder blades, radiates a small amount of reassuring heat.

"Honey, what's wrong?" she asks.

I try to savor this closeness before I have to answer the question. It's been too long since she's held me like this - I'm almost always the one holding her - and I want to feel her arms around me for as long as I can. But I know I can't keep her waiting, so I take one more deep breath, prepare to feel her warmth withdraw from my back. The words catch in my throat, though. I choke on them silently, struggle with revealing such an awful truth to a woman I love as much as my Marley.

"Me and Wes had a disagreement. He... behaved badly and I told him he can't have dinner tonight," I say at last, waiting for her to pull away and scold me for being too cruel to her baby. But she stays where she is. Her arms tighten slightly and I feel her nuzzle my back with her cheek.

"I'm sorry," she says, voice soothingly soft. She kisses me between my shoulder blades before continuing her train of thought. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Just make him something to eat," I reply, sighing heavily. "Maybe I was too hard on him... And I shouldn't try to starve him as a punishment. But I was just so angry..."

"Alright," she says and I can almost feel her lips curl into a smile through the fabric of my shirt. Then the sensation disappears, replacing itself with the feeling of a frown. I wonder if something's bothering her, pray that I'm not the cause of her worry or sadness or any other negative emotion she may be experiencing. But, of course, I have a hand in it. "So, what were you two fighting about?"

Part of me wants to just forget about the whole thing. I don't want to remember what I saw only a few hours ago in my son's bedroom. Sure, maybe I'm overreacting a bit. Being gay isn't the huge deal that it used to be back when I was a kid. But that idea - the one that says men shouldn't love each other like that - is deeply ingrained in me. There isn't really a way to change my belief. Even if he _is_ my son. What he did... It isn't right. At the same time, though, I know I have to try and understand what he's thinking. Then maybe I can fix him or get him professional help or... I notice that Marley's not hugging me anymore and she moves to stand in front of me, hands on her hips, impatient gaze rushing to meet mine.

"I think it's better if ya heard it from him," I say, avoiding her eyes.

xxxxxx

Dinner is real tense. It's just me, Marley, and Theo, sitting at a table that feels too big for three people. Truth is, four is the recommended number of diners and it was a miracle that, at one point, we had managed to squeeze seven of us around it. Nowadays, we've gotten used to the emptiness. We stopped expecting Albany and Renee to come home for supper a long time ago... But I wish Joanna was here or Pony or anyone else. Even Soda...

My wife glares at me from across the table. I try not to pay attention, but I can't help myself. She's taking Wes's side - of course she is - and that just bothers me. We're supposed to be a team, support each other's decisions. But she's pissed at me over some stupid little thing, probably thinking she can change my mind. Is it really so wrong that I don't want my son kissing men?

I want him to find a wife, a nice girl who'll take care of him, raise his children. I want him to have a normal life, where people won't try to harm him just cause he's different. Ain't nothing wrong with a father who wants the best for his son.

We're halfway through dessert when I finally break the silence and voice my thoughts. "Ya'll know I love that boy just as much as our other kids," I begin tentatively, hoping to sound as gentle as possible. But at this point, I'm talking to Marley more than Theo, so maybe I don't have to worry so much about that. "And I don't mean to hurt him. I just want him to be safe."

No one replies to me. My wife conceals her accusing gaze by looking pointedly out of the nearby window. Theo just glares into his bowl of ice cream.

Deep down, I feel my anger stirring, trying to rise up again. Though I fight it, I still feel it consuming me. My own family doesn't respect me, doesn't understand that I'm doing the kid a favor by punishing him harshly for his deviant behavior. They don't support the morals I've enforced. And that's what gets me. That's why I find myself standing abruptly, throwing my chair to the floor. It cracks audibly, but I don't care. My face is flushed with rage and I point down the hall towards Wes's room, shouting, "What the hell is wrong with him?"

"Nothin'. Bastard..."

The voice is a low growl, perhaps not meant to be heard by my ears, but I can't ignore it. I whirl around, all my attention and anger focusing in on Theo. "What'd you just say to me?" I demand, resting my fists on the tabletop and leaning towards him.

He looks up from his dessert and glares at me with all the hatred he can fit in to a single glance. "I said there ain't nothin' wrong with him and you're a fuckin' bastard for thinkin' you got any right to try changin' him." Then he spits into his bowl, gets up to walk out the front door. Maybe he's thinking that I'll just let him go. But I don't.

I grab his upper arm, fling him back into the kitchen with the same ease as tossing a football. He crashes into one of the counters, his back striking the edge hard. A hiss of pain pushes through his lips as he stands up straight, rubbing his spine to reduce the pain. But he doesn't think to run; he assumes the worst is over. It's not. I appear beside him, spin him around, then press my hand against the back of his head. I force him down, face shoved into the counter top. Without thinking, I remove the tongs we'd used to serve the corn from their home in the pot of water that had yet to be removed from the burner.

Maybe I'd seen that the metal was still steaming, but I can't help myself. Theo manages to turn his head towards me, tries to protest. All he accomplishes is providing me a place to strike him. The tongs hiss as they make contact with the skin of his cheek, burn him. His whole body spasms under my grip, desperate to escape the pain I'm inflicting. He's whimpering by the time I pull the burning metal away and his cheek is scarlet, already beginning to scab over. Seeing him heal so quickly ignites another inferno of rage in me. I raise the tongs, ready to strike again, but my wife's voice stops me.

"Don't! Darry... Please, don't..." She appears at my side, tugging the tongs out of my suddenly limp fingers. Tears streak down her face and I can tell that she's holding something back. Though I can't figure out if that means she feels like crying or screaming.

I come back to myself just then, see Theo hurt to the point of needing professional medical help. It makes me nauseous. Did I really do that to him? My gaze drops to my hands which still shake with residual rage and I can't think of the proper words to say. I see Marley wrap her slender arms around our son, kiss his undamaged cheek. He leans into her, allowing himself to be comforted cause he really is in terrible pain this time. The scene is almost peaceful, though. In some twisted way... A mother protecting her son.

Then she turns her scorching eyes on me. "Get out," she says, her voice trembling from both fear and anger. It never raises above a whisper, but its threatening tone sends shivers down my spine. "Get out of here! And don't you dare come back!"

xxxxxx

The bar is as dimly lit as I remember it being. I haven't bothered to show up in quite a while. Cause it's a place for lost souls and crushed dreams. People sift through the rubble of their lives here, searching for some salvageable piece upon which to rebuild. I never had any rubble, not after Renee died. That had been taken care of a few years back. But now it's been replaced by new ruins.

I take a seat in the darkest corner I can find, beer in hand. Hoping nobody will bother me, I take a big gulp of my drink then slump forward. It isn't long, though, before a familiar figure claims the seat across from me. His white-blond hair pierces through my shroud of misery and I glance up to meet his steely gaze.

"Don't you know this is my table?" It's just a question this time, not at all like the violent demands I'm used to hearing from him. But I still don't answer. He waits for a few moments then tries a different tactic. "What're ya doin' here, Curtis? Why ain't you home?" I think he wants to add 'with my kids' to the end of his second question, yet in a show of uncharacteristic self-control, he refrains from delving into _that_ sore subject.

"Screwed up," I reply simply, downing the remainder of my drink in a single swallow. "I screwed up real bad with my boys..."

He leans forward and I see the faintest glimmer of concern decorate his sharp features. It'd take the mental capacity of the town idiot to be able to miss the unspoken question. I might not have gone to college, but I can still tell exactly what he's thinking. Albany. He's worrying that I've hurt his son and I can't help but feel guilty about keeping him in suspense for such a long time.

"Not Al," I say as a tramp of a waitress brings me another bottle. She winks at me then saunters off, probably hoping that I'll follow, but I stay seated. I see Dal's eyes trailing after her, turned shades darker by a primal hunger. I sit back in the rickety old chair, hope I can disengage from this awkward encounter. "If you want her, you can have her."

For a moment, he looks like he might rise, but then he shakes his head. "Slut like her? Nah. I can do better." There's silence for too long and I consider breaking it to tell him that all the women I'd ever seen him with were just the same as that waitress. I never get the chance, cause right before I can open my mouth, he starts talking again. "So, you gon tell me what happened with the twins?"

"No."

"Well, least you're honest." He laughs then takes a swig of his own beer. When he's finished with it, he pushes his chair back, kicks his feet up on the table, and grins at me crookedly. "I ain't tryin' to pry or nothin'. Guess I'm just curious. Ain't never any trouble in the Curtis Garden of Eden. Now there is and I want answers."

"You always this observant?" I ask, trying not to let too much sarcasm slip into my words. But he knows that I'm aiming to distract him, even before I'm entirely aware of the fact. He just cocks an eyebrow at me, waits for the story to start. Finally, after another long silence, I give in. "You wanna know what happened? Fine." I glance around the bar to be sure that no one's paying attention then continue on in hushed tones. "Wes is... Well, I guess he's... gay... And I disciplined him, but Marley and Theo got pissed off at me." I pause to sneak a glance at his expression, but he's as stoic as ever. "I lost control. Ended up hurtin' Theo real bad..."

"He have to see a doctor?"

"Yeah."

"Shit," Dally mumbles. His eyes seem distant, like he's years deep in the past, remembering his own hospital visits after fights with his father. Then he pulls himself out of it and looks at me real hard. "Can I give ya some advice?"

I shrug, not sure that there's anything he can say to me that'll make my whole family situation right again. But if he's set on trying, I won't stop him.

"Back in New York City, it was just me and my old man," he begins. "And whenever I'd act up or get in trouble with the cops, he never gave a shit. He'd down a few more beers, tell me to keep up what I was doin' cause he was too drunk to be bothered with punishin' me. Maybe he didn't know I was doin' bad in the first place. Booze, ya know? Anyway, half the time, it felt like I lived all on my own, like he wasn't even around. So, I guess I mean to say that you just gotta be there for 'em. You can't change who Wes is and you can't take back what you did to Theo. But you _can_ make good on your promise to care for 'em no matter what happens. Though you sure as hell can't do that from here."

His words make me set the bottle firmly on the table, resolve to never touch it again. I know he's right and I think that surprises me. After all, what does Dallas Winston know about being a parent? For the past eighteen years, he's been an absentee father, a man whose very existence I tried to hide from his kids. Now, here he is, telling me something I should've known all along.

"Thanks..."

"Yeah, whatever," he says, making a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Don't go tellin' nobody bout this, ya hear? Swear I'll skin ya if I ever find out you been sharin' what I said."

I find the strength to laugh a bit then allow the conversation to change. But I've got this thought on my mind and since we got all sentimental, I think I might go for it. Of course, that's definitely the beer talking, though I think I've stopped caring at this point.

"I was real pissed when you left," I say without any further thought. "All those years ago... Thought I'd try to find ya, force ya to take responsibility for knockin' up broads you didn't care about."

"Why didn't ya?" he asks, bringing his feet down from the tabletop and setting them firmly on the creaking floorboards.

"Cause I was afraid," I reply as my eyes begin to burn with unshed tears. "I thought you wouldn't be no good as a father, that you'd screw up real bad and ruin whatever shot they had at just bein' regular kids. But, now, whenever I think about it, I know it wouldn't have been so terrible. Maybe Renee would still be alive..."

Dally turns away from me, a silent plea for me to shut my mouth, but I just keep going.

"And maybe Al wouldn't hate everythin'. And Joanna wouldn't be so desperate for love that she tries to get it from about anyone who makes an advance on her," I say, feeling tears dampen my cheeks. I rub them away impatiently. "They wouldn't be strangers in their own house. They wouldn't..." I trail off as I notice Dally's shaking. Maybe I'm pushing this too far and he's gonna beat me black and blue for pinning the blame on him like this.

But he slumps forward instead, utterly defeated. "I know it's my fault, Dare," he says, rubbing his temple with two fingers like he suddenly has a headache. "You don't gotta remind me that I ruined their lives... But even when I came back, I couldn't do no good. Renee's been dead three years, Albany's still landin' himself in jail, and Joanna... Don't know if she told you yet, but she let Two-Bit knock her up just cause I told her not to fuck with him. I ain't good at this fatherhood thing... You're better... That's why I left 'em with you."

I don't know how to reply. Part of me knows he's right, but I really do want to make him feel better. There isn't a thing I can say, though. We're both pretty terrible fathers. Everybody thinks I'm supposed to be the best at raising kids since I had to take care of Soda and Ponyboy, but I'm not. Not even close. I hadn't known Joanna got pregnant. I don't know how to fix Albany. And I can't do anything to stop a suicide that's three years old, but just as fresh in my mind as if it happened yesterday.

But I don't need any of these answers now. The conversation is over and Dallas Winston no longer sits across from me. Only his empty beer bottle remains as proof. Proof that he'd been there in the first place. But I'm glad we finally had the chance to talk about all this. Especially since he's given me a clear checklist of what I need to do. The first item on it: Make sure Theo is okay.

I slam my money down in front of the bartender then step outside. The night sky is black and smothered with rain clouds that almost make me wish I hadn't walked. But I shrug the feeling aside, begin the long trek to the hospital. It'll all be worth it, in the end. Cause we can't start healing till I get there...

 _ **AN - Wow, this is the longest chapter I've ever written! I hope that kinda makes up for the month that I made you wait for it. Oops. Really sorry about that. Anyway, please give this update a review. I love hearing from you guys! As always, thanks for reading and enjoying! :)**_


	14. Chapter 14

**Reviews:**

 **Sammy - Aw, I'm so glad you liked the chapter!**

 **mycookiegirl - Yeah, Darry really screwed up with his kids in that chapter. And I like your suggestion that they don't forgive him right away. But I think Theo will. For the injury, I mean. He won't forgive Darry for how he reacted to and treated Wes, though. Anyway, I hope you continue to read and enjoy the story!**

 **Phoenix fever - Like I told mycookiegirl, Theo forgives Darry almost right away for the burn, but everything else? Absolutely not. And I'm not sure what Wes does just yet. We'll see.**

 **MazeRunnerJunkie - I guess you'll just have to keep reading to find out. :p But, yeah, thank you so much for the review; it means a lot to me. Hopefully, you'll enjoy this chapter as well!**

 _ **AN - Well, it's been months since I updated this... I'm so sorry! School has been so demanding and I'm only just beginning to get over my severe writers' block. Seriously, I had lost the will to write almost completely. I hope you guys can forgive me... Anyway, please enjoy! Also review (because I'm in desperate need of encouragement in order to keep going with this story).**_

 ** _Oh, but before I forget, let me give you all a quick warning for this chapter. This part contains prescription drug abuse, mentions of rape, and sexual situations (for lack of a better term). If any of these things bother you, please don't read._**

Chapter 14: Two-Bit 3

I'm nervous. My hands shake while I reach for another bottle. A shard of glass - one of many - rips into my forearm as I stretch across the table, take hold of my third beer. I chug it down, feeling warm, sticky blood crawl towards my elbow. There's no pain, though. I'm numb aside from the fluttering sensation that fills my stomach. And it's driving me crazy cause I can't eat a thing. With all the anxiety making me nauseous, I think I could've turned down a slice of Soda's homemade chocolate cake. Well, maybe not, but it's the thought that counts.

When I try to stand, fetch a bandage for my injury, I find myself laying on the floor. Was it really only three beers? It all feels like a distant dream... I force my body into a sitting position and glance around. The shattered glass is gone, leaving me to wonder where it disappeared to.

Getting to my feet seems easier now than it did before. A sigh of relief pushes through my cracked lips. I stand up straight, continue on with my mission of fetching a bandage until I realize I'm not bleeding anymore. There's an angry red line of fresh scabs ingrained in my flesh, but other than that, the previous damage is nonexistent. And that discovery is good because I'm no longer at risk for bleeding out - not that I was in the first place - but it's also bad. No wound means no purpose in my movements, which means I've lost my way. Again.

Slowly, I wander into the kitchen, take notice of how nothing is the way I left it. The dishes sparkle from a fresh cleaning and the refrigerator door is shut firmly, rather than swinging on its hinges, releasing the captive air. Lingering unease hits me hard in the chest as I absorb my disturbed surroundings. I suck in a breath that brings pain to my sore ribs. The ones Dallas Winston fractured not too long ago.

The thought still twists me up inside and often times I don't know what to feel. I wonder if I should be angry, betrayed, or just plain resigned. Maybe I haven't gotten over the shock of it. Never thought he'd turn on me, after all, so it makes sense that I'm unable to truly recognize and understand my emotions.

I throw open one of the cabinets, tear through neat stacks of cracked ceramic plates and faded plastic cups until my fingers find their target. They wrap around the cylindrical object, pulling it from its hiding space. A sense of calmness washes over me once I see it and I start to feel like everything is gonna be alright. It's a feeling that almost makes me hesitate as I find myself considering whether or not I actually need to do this. But the brute force of habit overwhelms wisdom's gentle persuasion. I pop off the lid with the ease of a practiced hand and my nerves buzz with excitement.

Pills roll into my palm, already beginning to take the edge off of my hangover. I'm nervous still. But it barely registers in my mind. Anticipation tingles along every nerve pathway, smothering any anxiety that has not yet released me. My tongue wets my lips - a sensation similar to the sweat that forms on my brow. Although I can't see myself, I can clearly picture the glistening sheen decorating my clammy skin. I sweep a damp lock of hair off of my forehead, rub at my face for a few moments. Then I return to my current task.

Fingers stumbling, shaking, I grab a cup from the cabinet and fill it with water. I send a cascade of plastic dishes falling to the floor, leave the faucet running. Part of me wonders if I'm being too careless, but it's a small part, miniscule in comparison to the rest. The ones that now completely focus on the medicine in the palm of my hand.

I press a single pill through chapped lips, savoring the weight of it on my tongue. All my senses are heightened and I feel my muscles begin to tense up eagerly. The water leaves a bitter taste behind, after I gulp it down, but I can't bring myself to care. I track each movement of the pill as I swallow, feeling it scrape along the walls of my esophagus. My breath hitches slightly, hungry fingers scramble to satisfy the intense need I feel.

Several more pills are consumed in a similar manner, sweating, desperate. And even though I know I should stop, I can't keep my hands off the little bottle. I caress it in my palms as tenderly as I would touch Joanna, lightly dragging my fingertips up the sides in a way that always made her release a pleasured sigh. Yet I want more. So much more than I can handle. I struggle against the desire, though, cause I know that I can't take another pill, regardless of how desperate I am for the increased gratification of a stronger dose. With all my strength, I hide the bottle in the cabinet, behind everything so that Amelia can't find it.

Her name pulls me back into reality somewhat, reminding me of the most important reason for ending my current session of self-medication. One more pill would've gotten me too high to drive her to school. Hell, I'm probably past that point already. But she really needs me today and I won't let her down.

"Good morning..." I hear her timid voice and turn to face her. The first things I notice are the dark shadows beneath her eyes - markings that imply poor sleep. I feel a sharp twinge of guilt, knowing it was my fault, knowing I'd kept her awake with all of my drunken activities late last night. For a moment, my mouth hangs open and my mind belatedly conjures a reply. But my gaze falls to her hands, takes note of all the Band-aids curled around her little fingers. I'm silenced.

"What happened?" I demand, grabbing one of her wrists and pulling her hand close to my face. "What's with all these Band-aids?"

"Paper cuts," she says. There is confidence in her voice, but I see how she avoids meeting my eyes, like she's got a secret. I shake my head slightly, convince myself that she isn't lying, and let her change the subject. "You making breakfast?"

"Just cereal today, kiddo," I reply. "It's too late for me to start cookin'."

She whines, but I can't hear her words anymore. I can't see her pout. And I know I'm losing myself again cause my vision goes blurry. Blinking, I force my mind to refocus. Amelia watches me, concern scrunching up her facial features. But she doesn't say a word, just sits at the kitchen table and starts eating. The entire time, she won't look away and I can feel my stomach doing flips. I think she knows, I'm _afraid_ that she knows. It doesn't take much observing to figure out I'm not a great dad. I just wish she didn't notice...

I wait as she spoons food into her mouth, my distorted view making it impossible to see what kind of cereal she's eating. Time whizzes by, yet it still feels like an eternity before she finishes. An eternity that I can't even remember. I blink then my daughter is gone, bowl cleaned up and her small fingers resting on the door knob. How had she gotten ready so quickly? She had still been in her pyjamas just moments ago.

Her gaze falls upon me expectantly. Stumbling, I follow after her, hope that she doesn't try to accuse me. It's not something I imagine her doing, but I know she's bolder when it's just the two of us. She hesitates at the car door - her only indication that she knows I'm...not capable of driving right now. Then she shakes out her strawberry tangles, heaves a sigh, and climbs into the backseat with her school bag. I throw open the driver's side door.

"Keith!"

Abruptly, I find myself turning toward the road as the voice registers in my mind. My sister Julia waves to me from the sidewalk and smiles pleasantly. She's wearing a purple leotard and lime green leggings and sweat sparkles on her skin. As if she'd been in the middle of exercising when she was possessed by a sudden urge to see me.

"What're ya doin' here?" I ask, trying my hardest not to sound irritated. But in truth, I'm more than slightly annoyed. Surely she knows I need to get Amelia to school on time.

"I..." She glances at her niece, seems to amend the statement that had been formed in her head. Then she curls her lips further upward and continues on. "I was joggin' in the neighborhood. Thought I'd stop by to say hello. Ain't you glad to see me?"

My daughter nods eagerly, pressing her hands against the glass of the car window as if hoping to reach out and make contact with her aunt. She gives up fairly quickly and opts for a more effective method - opening the door. As she does so, Julia moves in close, kisses the girl's forehead. For long moments, I can hear and see nothing, aside from the happiness of my little family. I don't feel lucky, even though I know I should. Cause now, I start thinking about Dal, absolutely certain that he'll never experience all the joys of fatherhood. He'll never understand what it's like to raise a young child.

"Nice to see you again, too, sweetie," Julia says. "Now, I just need a second to talk to your father. Then we'll get ya to school."

She grabs hold of my arm without awaiting a response from Amelia and drags me back towards the house. We stop on the front porch, where she fixes a glare on me.

"You're high." The accusation burns into my skin, but she doesn't give me a chance to defend myself. She continues on in hushed tones, hoping to prevent the young girl from overhearing. "And ya think you can just drive her to school like nothin's wrong? Well, let me tell you what. I ain't allowin' it. Gettin' drunk every night... Screwin' with girls half your age... Then the drugs..." She huffs in frustration, runs her fingers through her auburn locks. "Quit actin' like it's 1965, Keith, and sober the fuck up. You ain't a kid no more."

"Don't you go tellin' me how to live my life," I say as I fold my arms over my chest.

"I'm worried about you," she protests, placing her hand on my shoulder. "And I'm worried about Amelia - you're gonna get her killed!" She breaks the physical contact then glances toward my car, stares at my daughter through the grimy window. I can't remember the last time I'd washed the thing and I think my younger self would throw a fit if he could see it. But, I'd stopped caring about cars - about anything, really - a long time ago. "She called me this mornin' cause she found ya passed out on the floor... And she was cryin' so hard... You know, it ain't a little girl's job to clean up her daddy's drunken mess."

She whirls back to me, holds out her hand as if she expects something. After a moment of waiting, she rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to make her demand. "Give me your keys. I'm gonna call one of your buddies to come take care of ya. Then I'm drivin' Amelia to school." A pause, eyes still searching for an indication that I'll obey. Her outstretched hand gestures urgently. "Now, Keith."

With uncoordinated fingers, I dig through my pockets, feel about for the keys to my car. I pull them from their denim confines and drop them unceremoniously into my younger sister's palm. She doesn't say a word, just gives me that look, like she's pissed or whatever. Letting her drag me back through the front door, I find myself wondering how I'd been stupid enough to completely lose track of my life. Where had I gone wrong? Well, surely it was when I... Then it hits me, as hard as I remember. I haven't been the same since Dallas Winston put me in the hospital.

It's been months since my brief stay there, yet somehow it has affected me more than I'd like to admit. Maybe I'm just crazy or maybe the betrayal sent me over the edge. Either way, I don't know how to fix everything, piece my life back together.

I hear Julia talking on the phone, but I can't even guess who she'd called. Sighing heavily, I lower myself onto the sofa, try to relax. It isn't too difficult a task and I think that scares me more than anything - how easy it is to just let go when I'm like this. Once again, I let reality slip from my grasp, forcing myself to be utterly submerged in fantasy. Savannah appears on my one side, Joanna on the other. They both smile disarmingly, put their hands on my body in oddly gratifying ways. My wife leans her body into mine as she smirks playfully. She whispers that she missed me, that we need to take time to become intimately re-acquainted. The gentle voice flows over my ears like a wave of warm water, pulling me under the surface and making me dizzy from the lack of oxygen.

The heat spreads throughout my body, so calming and stabilizing that I can almost think clearly. Joanna tugs on my arm in an attempt to capture my attention. But I ignore her, shove her away from me so that I can focus fully on my wife. The younger woman's hands claw at my chest, desperation apparent in her violent movements. She captures Savannah's gaze, which darkens as she notices the Winston girl. I can hear my wife's voice, echoing through my head. She warns Joanna to stay away from me then laughs with uncharacteristic harshness.

In a blink, they both disappear and I'm alone again. Well, not exactly cause Julia's still there. But I feel empty somehow. Maybe the pills are wearing off... I reach for the bottle - it's never far away - yet my hand connects only with the plush material of the couch. Stifle a groan, hope that my sister doesn't notice. She shouldn't have to see how weak I am.

As I'm thinking that, she turns around. I see her lips moving, but I can't hear what she says and it drives me crazy. I feel like I'm letting her down.

"Are you listenin' to me?" she demands. And I'm glad to find that I can once again hear her. I sit up a little taller, nodding, waiting for her to continue as I know she will. Because the fight is too young for her to give up on and she'd rather burn in Hell than let me go without a good scolding.

She slams the phone back onto its hook and punches her fists into her hips. "I swear to God if you don't shape up, I'm callin' Mom next. And you know she don't care how old you are; she'd still bend ya over her knee and spank ya real good." My sister grumbles something about how my good-for-nothing ass deserves a beating then whirls around, heading for the front door. Just as her fingers capture the cool metal knob, she hesitates.

"I'm takin' Amelia to school," she says with a sigh, hanging her head as if she no longer had the energy to support it. "Try to control yourself 'til Steve gets here..."

Steve... The sound of his name being spoken aloud sends dread-filled tremors through my body. I almost can't believe Julia had said it, had dirtied her mouth with that single, filthy syllable - it makes me sick. My eyes stare at her retreating form until the door closes, and even then, I'm still looking in that direction. Why had she called him? She betrayed me... How could she ask him to watch me, when there is nothing but resentment between us now? Nothing remains of that friendship that lasted nearly two decades.

It had been dying all along, even in its prime, but I only recognized that when it was truly over. He never cared for me. He treated me different from the others, never letting me get too close. And maybe I was content to let him hold me at arm's length. Maybe I was scared of trusting him - a decision I don't regret now that I'm looking back on it. But it doesn't matter anymore. I shake myself out of these thoughts, clearing my head of these thoughts until my mind floods with a singular word: _leave_.

Just pack up and go. Hide out till the coast is clear. I can't stand to see him, not after what he did to me. My lungs constrict at the reminder, causing my already-sore ribs to ache. I haven't fully healed from Dally's assault a few months back and I know adding emotional strain into the mix will only intensify my suffering. He can't come here. I won't allow it.

Despite my determination - a feeling I'm certain is being bolstered by my state of intoxication - the front door soon opens. And then he's standing there, in my house. His entire being clashes with the decor, stirring the nausea in my stomach to even greater levels. I stand to confront him, sway a little on my feet, then take a step forward. But he isn't at the door anymore. Instead, he is beside me, taking hold of my arm and trying to gently lower me back onto the couch. I resist.

"Don't fuckin' touch me," I mumble as I shove him away.

He takes time to balance himself before trying to talk. A smile conquers his facial features once his feet are steadily planted on the floor and I can see a slight tinge of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. His fingers run through greying hair twice then he lets them drop. It's only a matter of time before he speaks.

"You... uh... still mad at me, huh?"

"Never heard an apology," I reply, forcing my hands into my pockets. "If you don't ask for it, I ain't gonna forgive you." And why should I? He's a fucking pig...

Faintly, I hear him sigh. A low noise like a breeze whistling through bare branches. He doesn't have an answer for me, cause he knows just saying sorry won't work anymore and he no longer has the means to manipulate me. Not that it's harder than it used to be. Probably easier actually. If he offered me more of my pills, I'd do just about anything he wanted. Definitely easier... And it burns me up inside, thinking that I could be completely at his mercy at some point, but there's nothing I can do. I need those drugs to function. I can't wake up, eat, talk, take care of Amelia, make love to Joanna... I can't do anything without them.

"I'm sorry," he says, voice scarcely audible over my own thoughts. He gives me one of his signature smiles, although this time, it appears to be much more subdued. A little worried, even. Maybe he read my mind and now knows every idea in my head. Or maybe I really am losing it... Either way, he attempts to give me more than an apology. "I shoulda never let it happen and I'd do anythin' to fix it all."

"You fucked my sister..."

"I was havin' a hard time." He only protests half-heartedly. There's no point in throwing all his energy into an argument against me. But I'll give him bonus points for trying anyway. "Thought Bonnie and I were done for good that time. My... my heart was broken, Two-Bit. I was sure I was gonna die. Then Julia showed up at my place, lookin' for you, and I couldn't stop myself." He pauses, watches the rage darken my expression.

I know he can see he's getting to me, so I figure I need to take a good jab at him. Hit him where I'm certain he still hurts. And only one topic comes to mind. His father. I calm myself down, set my lips in a brief smirk, then let the words just tumble out.

"Just like your filthy old man," I hiss. Time freezes in the moment after my retort, as I consider lunging at him, as his ears register what I had said. I take a step forward, fully intending to attack. Until I see his face - the raw emotion that burns there, the pure hurting that I had longed for since Julia had told me what happened to her.

He can only stare at me, even as the flow of time returns to normal. His eyes seem suddenly shinier and his lips are pressed into a tight line, the bottom one trembling despite his efforts to prevent it. In hindsight, I know I shouldn't have brought his dad into the argument. I just wanted to see him in pain. I thought it would help me. But here I am, watching him fight back tears, and regretting my choice of insult almost immediately. Despite everything that had soured our relationship, I feel my fatherly nature struggling to take over, make me pull my former friend into my arms, tell him I hadn't meant it. I fight back with my desire to physically harm him and manage to stay at a happy middle ground - motionless.

"Do you think I raped her?" he asks, desperate to keep his voice level, probably praying that I can't see how bad my words sting. He sounds so wounded, so feeble, that I recognize the mistake I made. I spoke without knowing the full extent of his father's crimes and so ended up comparing him to someone that is beyond evil. An evil he had personally experienced.

Even when high, I know I should back up and start begging for forgiveness. But my tongue works faster than my impared mind and, before I know it, I'm asking him something that I'll later be ashamed of. "Who'd your old man rape?"

Steve doesn't even have the courtesy to skip a beat, pretend he hadn't expected such a question. "Me."

"Jesus..." I don't know what else to say. Apologies are worthless between us, especially now. Now that I understand why sometimes Steve couldn't walk straight all those years ago. Or why I could hear grunting and quiet sobs in the night on the rare occasions that I would sleep over at his place. I'd noticed his bed was empty and must've assumed he'd wanted to spy on his father pummeling some random whore. I don't remember...

I find myself in the kitchen, pill bottle already open in my hand, the lid somewhere on the floor. The tiny capsules tumble into my waiting palm. I lick my cracked lips as anticipation shudders along my nerves. Then Steve grabs my wrist, forces it down onto the counter. The pills slip and the sound of them dropping to the floor thunders in my ears. I want to fall to my knees, gather up my scattered medication, swallow them down dry if I have to. But Steve has me thoroughly pinned. My body struggles against him.

"Please..." I almost can't recognize my own voice, saturated as it is with desperation. His hands keep forcing me down in spite of my begging and pain blooms in my arms from the pressure. "Please, don't..."

He glares at me, at the cylindrical bottle I'd dropped, then shoves me toward the couch. My tailbone hits the back of it, causing more pain to take hold. I see him crouch down, collect my drugs in his hand, returning them eventually to their home. He rattles the bottle almost tauntingly before tucking it into his pocket. And he frowns at me like he's disappointed or some shit. The desire to attack him flares into a second life, making me shake even worse.

"Steve..." I try again, reaching out with trembling fingers. "I need them. I'm in pain..."

Still only silence and pitying eyes. He makes no other response. Just watches me, like he wants to see how far I'll go on my own, without his negotiations. I stare at him for a moment, my mind's half-broken cogs churning in search of a solution. But I can't think of anything clever. There're only a few things I can give him, yet I don't know for sure if he'll accept them. Was there any point in even offering?

"Julia. I'll forgive you for what you made her go through," I say, voice frantic. "Fuck, I-I'll let ya keep doin' it. Whenever you want! And... And I'll..." With four quick strides, I close the gap between us and kneel in front of him. He gazes downward, meets my eyes evenly. It drives me insane, encourages these humiliating words to flow out from between my lips. "I'll blow you... You don't even need to give me the whole bottle for it. Just a few pills and I'll let you fuck my mouth. P-please..."

I grab his belt, forcefully undo it, and for a moment, he's too shocked to reply. With a smirk, I throw the leather aside, knowing that I have him. He'll do what I want now, I'm sure of it. His eyes are wide, locked on me with tornados of conflicted emotion swirling with their depths. Lust, disbelief, anger, pity. My hands latch on to his hips and pull him closer. He stumbles forward a bit, caught off-guard by the sudden tug. I can feel him shaking in anticipation - or perhaps it's just anxiety. Whatever it is, I can't stop myself from basking in the power I have over him. Slowly, seductively, I lean in and press my lips against the front of his jeans.

His breath hitches.

Then he pushes at my shoulders, rips my fingers from where they clung to his hips. Still recovering his senses, he nearly trips as he backs away, as far away from my kneeling form as he can get. Body shaking all over, cheeks flushing bright pink. He braces his hand on the edge of the kitchen counter and watches me warily.

"I ain't a cheater no more..." he says, breath unsteady, almost panting. He checks his pocket to be certain that my pills are still there. Satisfied, he heads toward the door, but pauses before exiting. He studies me like I'm something foreign then gives me one last piece of advice before he departs. "Just... Get help, Two-Bit. I'm not the only one who's worried."

The door slams shut with such finality that it breaks me. I curl up on my side, not bothering to move to someplace more comfortable. I can't take it. I can't... And I remain in that position on the floor endlessly. Not even stirring when Amelia comes home. Maybe tomorrow will be better...


End file.
